ATAK 2: Sins of the Father
by alleymap
Summary: It has been six years since the events of ATAK and Bond is assigned to what he believes is a relatively easy assignment. As things transpire, this mission is far more personal than he can ever imagine as faces from his past once more enter his present.
1. Prologue

_Five Years Earlier._

The child was born four days before Christmas. Her mother, exhausted and wracked with pain collapsed back onto crumpled sheets of the bed.

A girl.

'Rest,' they told her, 'rest, you have a healthy daughter, a beautiful daughter.'

She was foreign, they knew that, but she understood, nodding slowly, sinking back into the pillows.

The nurses took the child, wrapping her securely against the cold winter night. Outside the rain lashed the windows of the hospital, driving gusts whipping the water across the island.

The child was cleaned up, warmed, and then, as the nurse held her close, she opened her tiny mouth and cried out.

Just once, as if in surprise at finding herself in this new strange environment.

The nurse smiled down at the child. Dark hair capped the reddened head, small fists flailed helplessly about. Taking a deep breath she turned.

He had been strangely silent throughout the birth, only murmuring in a low voice to the young woman with dark hair like her daughter's.

The deeply religious nurse held back a sudden urge to bless herself as she caught his eye.

This man was the Devil, she was sure of it. Even the shadows seemed compelled to surround him, shrouding his scarred face from her view. Sleek blond hair glinted as it captured the harsh hospital lights. He had narrowed eyes, a strong, broken nose, and a broad sensuous mouth set into a long, chisel jawed face. The air around him seemed to crackle with the build up of electricity. This was the Devil who would tempt you into sin, and then destroy you.

Sister Maria felt her cheeks colour as she held out the wrapped bundle to him.

'You have a daughter,' she murmured, refusing to meet the cold eyes that slowly focused to her.

Clumsily he took the child into his arms, and pulled back the pale pink blanket that partly obscured her face.

His child. His daughter.

Grey blue eyes, new born eyes yet to reveal themselves to be any particular colour, slowly opened and clumsily attempted to focus on the first thing they saw.

And stared. And stared.

How could he care for something so small, so fragile?

But then again, how could he not?

Give her to me.

He tears his gaze from the newborn's face and looks to where a pair of accusing brown eyes stare hollowly at him. Her skin is coated with sweat, her dark hair sticks to her forehead, her voice rasps dryly with exhaustion and thirst. She holds out tanned arms.

Give her to me, she repeats, and this time there is a streak of possessiveness in her demand, a hysterical edge.

His arms tighten on the bundle, and he is overwhelmed by a strange, new emotion.

Love.

His child.

He wants to shout it at her. She is his and his alone. His daughter.

His flesh and blood.

And the young woman knows it. She can see it in the set of his face, the way his arm muscles tensed beneath his shirt, the sheer power that radiates from him.

'Give me my daughter.'

This time her voice is stronger, and he smiles.

'Our daughter,' he whispers softly.

* * *

This was perhaps the strangest assignment the agent had ever received, but as he silently scaled the walls of the rickety building he remembered the MI6's agent's code.

Never question any order.

Just get on with it.

It usually meant less hassle later.

'Yours is not to reason why,' he muttered under his breath as he reached for the jagged edge of a brick jutting out above his head.

He wondered where that quote came from. The time doing this brought him to the window he was supposed to reach.

It simplicity itself to trace the thin red beam around the edge of the glass, and simply remove the pane. From here he slid his gloved hand into the gap and opened the window.

No alarm system graced the old building.

Inside the dusty room, he found a cabinet less covered in dust than the others. He had the information committed to memory, and he rifled through the files until he came to the one he needed.

What the hell was so special about this child, he wondered as he retrieved a crisp new birth certificate from the file. All he knew was that there could be no evidence of the birth at all.

This was why he had all the medical records secured upon his person.

Flipping it open he shone a narrow beam of light.

It took a lot to shock a MI6 agent, yet his mouth fell open.

He gaped at the record.

It couldn't be.

The man was dead.

The man was dead twice over.

He couldn't possibly have a child.

The agent took a deep breath. He didn't know why he had been trusted with such privileged information, but he finally understood the responsibility of the task assigned to him.

He shone the beam over the paper again.

Just to double check it said what he thought it said.

It did. And then there was the second shock.

The mother's name was familiar. His memory dredged through the years, until finally he placed her. And why her name was familiar.

He whistled through his teeth, the low sound echoing through the building.

'Bloody hell,' he muttered.


	2. Chapter One

Welcome back to the world of ATAK. I gave into temptation.

But then I always do.

* * *

Attractive young women were no rarity at MI6, yet there was something about this one that demanded attention.

Perhaps it was because there was an element of aloofness about her. You could chase and chase and yet you'd never catch her. No matter how hard you tried.

Olive skin combined with dark curls that tumbled past her shoulders. Hazel eyes that seemed to stare continuously into middle distance, as if she was permanently focused on something more far more important than the present.

No one was sure what exactly she did in the organisation. She wasn't a field agent, not at this time anyway, though she had had her fair share of assignments outside the office. Instead she was attached to a high ranking figure – a high powered personal assistant so to speak.

She knew everyone within the building, and yet at the same time, she knew no one. She kept herself to herself, and worked hard.

She was working hard now. She strode purposefully through the hall of records buried deep within the basement of the building. It was cool down here, with the musty smell that no amount of cleaning could ever remove.

Sometimes, when she was in a fanciful mood, she would pause, and listen, and think that she could hear the waters of the Thames sloshing on the other side of the thick walls. She knew that there was no possibility of this, the walls being lined with solid metal panels, but occasionally, she liked to pretend.

It was a place of sanctuary for her. Few agents had permission to be down there, yet she could come and go as she pleased with no risk of an awkward encounter with another agent.

Sometimes she saw one of her counterparts – the slim redhead that smiled pleasantly at her, but left her to her own devices. They understood each other, Moneypenny and she, they both understood the pressure of their job, and exchanged sympathetic nods in passing.

But nothing more than that. There would be no gossiping, no complaints about the harshness, or demands of their superiors. They were professionals and understood the complexities of the work that they did.

Today, she was down here on a routine assignment; the tedious background checks that accompanied each new mission. Find the appropriate file, check, and then back to work.

Sometimes, the old ways were best. Computers could be hacked, files could be wiped out by viruses. Paper in a locked room. It was almost foolproof.

Almost.

Of course, it meant far more rummaging, and increased risk of paper cuts with the old system. And it meant if things weren't organised properly, you could end up pulling out the wrong piece of paper.

Curiosity drove her to open it. It was an overwhelming urge, quite unlike anything she had ever experienced before, somehow, she knew what she held in her hand would change her life.

She had to open it.

A birth certificate.

Like the agent who had retrieved it five years ago, her eyes opened wide, and she felt a shiver of shock course through her.

Disbelief flooded through her, interrupted only by a growing sense of triumph.

Her eyes narrowed, and a tight, fixed little smile appeared on her face. The paper crumpled at the edges as her fingers clenched tight on it.

Well, well, well.

This changed everything.

* * *

It happened so quickly.

Their day had been uneventful so far, pleasant, but just like any other day. They had swam, and laughed, and played in the sun, and they had been happy. Just the two of them. As the afternoon drew to a close they had packed their belongings away and climbed the steep stone steps back up to home, where they had dried off, and changed, and still they had laughed, and still they had smiled and all had been good.

It happened so quickly.

The first sign that something was wrong was a shadow cast through a window.

The woman's head had snapped up, and she had felt the hairs on the back of her neck rise. Something was wrong, and every instinct in her body screamed it.

'Stay here,' she whispered, as she crept across the room, her hand reaching to check the lock on the door was securely fastened.

It happened so quickly.

The sound of smashing glass came from another part of the house, there was the sound of heavy running feet coming in their direction, diving across the room, the woman had thrown herself against the door.

It was too late. The door imploded inwards, and they had stormed in. There had been a flash of metal, and she had collapsed to the floor, fighting unconsciousness, fighting the blackness that crept in from the edge of her vision.

'No!' she protested, feeling something warm and slick trickle down the side of her head. 'No...'

The protest faded into the commotion, as the men obeyed their orders.

Her head hit the softness of the mat, and she knew no more.

It had happened so quickly.

A little girl screamed for her mother.

* * *

At roughly the same time, thousands of miles away, a boy ran barefoot down the dusty road. He had no idea of the events that were happening to a young girl the same age as him in another country. Instead, he just ran down the road. He ran everywhere, it was quicker that way, and he could help his parents more. The brilliant sun bounced off his gleaming black skin, his white teeth showed in a broad smile. He stepped back to let a pick up truck filled with workers go past, and was just about to dash on when he heard an accented voice cry out to him.

'Jambo!'

He turned at the greeting, which sounded strange, and saw a tall white man standing on the edge of the road. The boy glanced around, saw no else there, then looked up at the white house that was hidden behind green fronds. He had run past this house everyday for almost all of his life, and had never seen the person that had lived there. He wondered if this man did.

'Jambo,' he answered shyly. He stood awkwardly in the dust, aware of his shabby clothing and dirty, dust stained feet. A fly buzzed round his head, but he didn't dare knock it away.

The man was dressed all in white. He had a gold tooth, the boy noticed, and his eyes widened at the sight of it as the man smiled broadly at him.

'Have you ever seen one of these, boy?' the man asked in English.

He held out a coin, and the boy stared at it. He edged forward, and was encouraged as the man crouched next to him. The coin was gold, like the man's tooth, and decorated with a strange figure, a bare-chested man with a long narrow beard attached to his chin. In his hand were a crook and a staff, and on his head was a large crown with a snake on it.

'No,' the boy mumbled, shaking his head.

'Do you know who that is?' the man rolled the coin in his fingers, until the strange crowned man showed again.

'No, sir.' The boy wondered why the man had singled him out, and wondered what his mother would do if she knew he was talking to this stranger.

The man seemed amused by the boy's shyness. 'He was a great King,' he explained patiently. 'He lived in Egypt, and Egyptian kings were called Pharaohs.'

'Pharaohs?' The boy repeated the strange word clumsily.

'That's right, a pharaoh. These kings thought they would live forever, that they would never truly die.'

'They wouldn't die?' The boy was intelligent, and this strange man was appealing to his curiosity.

'They thought they were gods. That they were too powerful to ever truly die.'

'Did they?'

'Did they what?'

'Did they die?'

'Oh yes,' the man laughed. 'They all died.'

The boy frowned. He had hoped they had truly been gods, and now he felt a flicker of disappointment. The man sensed this, and ruffled the boy's hair.

'Here,' he handed the coin to the boy. 'Yours. Now off you go, your mother will be waiting for you.'

With an incredulous look on his face, the boy clutched the coin in his fist and dashed down the road. He turned, waved, a brilliant smile on his face, and then faded into the distance.

The man waved back as he slowly straightened up. The smile had gone, and not even the harsh African sun could warm the cold features.

'No one lives forever. Not even you, Janus.'


	3. Chapter Two

A/N: I've had a lot of fun reading your 'conspiracy theories' in the reviews about what has happened, and what will happen! I've enjoyed being deliberately vague about events, but I'll try not to torture you too much longer.

'Jambo' means 'hello' in Swahili. It's used as a general greeting and there's just something very friendly about it that I like. Not to mention I love Tanzania, so I just had to set at least one scene there, hence the previous chapter!

Enjoy.

* * *

As the grey haired woman stalked through the corridors of MI6, agents parted like the Red Sea did for Moses. There was no doubt that this woman was in a foul mood.

In fact, she was absolutely furious.

Each step seemed to convey this anger, the heel of the court shoes she wore cracking viciously onto the floor in a fast unending rhythm. Male agents winced as she passed, imaging that same heel grinding into the most precious parts of their anatomy. She already had most of their balls in her iron tight grip.

Barbara Mawdsey was the first female M, the official head of MI6. She was well aware of the honour of the position, and the perils of running such a large organisation as international security. She had to be aware at all times, she had to know what was going on, and be prepared to take the rap when the proverbial hit the fan.

Whoever held the position of M had to be able to rise above the personal, rise above emotion and act in accordance to what was the best for the United Kingdom.

At this moment in time, M was finding it very difficult to do that.

The phone call had raised her from a deep sleep; groggily she had fought her way from the Sandman's grasp and into reality. Her husband had merely grunted about the phone, and turned over, immediately slipping back into sleep.

He never saw how the blood drained from his wife's face, or how the hand that held the slim receiver trembled as she listened to the news.

Nothing good ever came from allowing one's self to become personal. This phone called merely proved that. She had struggled to digest the news, and felt fear grow in the pit of her stomach.

M was frightened. She was frightened that she had allowed too much to happen, frightened that all the secrets she had kept were about to come spilling out. But most of all she was frightened of what might happen to people she cared about. Not that she would ever admit to this fear, but it knotted itself deep within her, a solid, almost real mass beneath her diaphragm.

She snapped orders as she walked through the hallowed hallways, and one was repeated over and over again. One she was frightened of giving but she saw she had no other options.

She needed the best. She needed someone who could work quickly, efficiently and with a high level of skill.

But if she assigned him... M shook her head, knowing she had no choice, and merely hoped that he wouldn't let his 'issues' prejudice him against the case.

'Get me Bond,' she hissed.

She reached the sanctuary of her inner office, and knew immediately that the final obstacle was to come. A white faced Moneypenny was gazing unseeingly at the opposite wall; she jumped slightly as M marched in.

'Not now, Moneypenny,' M murmured, and briefly, only briefly, the strain showed across her features.

Moneypenny nodded, then briskly checked her records. 'We have agents in the area tracking all flights to and from the island, agents at all ports and all major roads. We've managed to keep the media at bay, they have absolutely no idea what has happened – we're working on a cover story as we speak. 007 has been contacted and is on his way.'

'Roused from some tart's bed, no doubt,' M snapped tartly, attempting to brush past her and make it through the door before Moneypenny could ask the question she was dreading.

She wasn't quick enough.

'It's Natasha, isn't it?'

'Yes,' M spoke slowly, 'Yes, it's Natasha.'

'Do you... do you think...' Moneypenny struggled with the words, trying to voice the fears that both women felt.

M didn't want to think. She wanted to work. She wanted to throw herself into the case, and seek a resolution. She didn't want to think what might happen to a five year old girl. Did M think they would hurt her? Torture her? Kill her? All the options had already crossed her mind, and M was terrified of every single one of them.

Natasha was only a little girl. Five years old and blessed with the intelligence of both her parents. She was always smiling, always laughing.

She was an innocent.

And now she was being punished because of who her parents were.

'Where the hell is 007?' she snarled before slamming the door shut behind her.

'Kidnapping?'

James Bond's highly expressive eyebrows threatened to reach the edge of his perfectly groomed black hair. He lounged languidly in the chair opposite his superior, and voiced his incredulous disbelief.

He realised immediately that he had made a mistake as M's facial muscles tightened to new extremes.

'Yes, a kidnapping. Have you a problem with that, 007? Or do you think it is in someway below you?'

'No, sir.' Even when he was being submissive there was an edge of defiance in Bond's manner.

'Good, because if you do there would be no difficulty in demoting you to a level you might consider more suitable to such a task.'

'Of course not, sir.'

M's tone was distinctly icy. 'The child was taken from her home yesterday afternoon... Am I boring you, Bond?'

Bond froze with one hand travelling to his yawning mouth. 'Late night, sir. Is there anything important about this child that I should know about?'

The pause before M answered was a fraction too long. 'Her parents are important to us. They both have close connections with MI6, and we are concerned that the child may be used as a bargaining device.'

'What for?'

'Information. We are as of yet unaware of how much knowledge the kidnappers have about the child's parents. Her mother works directly for us as a cryptographer. There is a possibility that the kidnappers were there to take her work, and took advantage of the situation to take the child. However, we believe that the child was the target of the attack, and that this had been planned for some time.'

'What happened to the mother?'

'She was attacked and overpowered. We believe the attackers had the intention to stun, rather than kill. She is recovering at home, and is yet to confirm if any of her work is missing. Obviously she is extremely distressed at the moment.'

'What about her father?'

'He was... away at the time of the attack.'

Bond watched the woman opposite him, and saw a muscle leap in her cheek. He was immediately intrigued. 'Who exactly is her father?' he asked.

'A diplomatically sensitive figure,' M stared coldly at Bond, knowing that the agent was reading her like a book, and hating him for it. 'And that's all you need to know.'

'What about negotiations? Has contact been made with the kidnappers yet?'

'No. Unfortunately we have no idea where they might have taken the girl. All we can do is wait.'

Bond nodded slowly, one hand idly brushing away a piece of imaginary lint from his immaculately cut jacket. 'How important is the child?' he asked as casually as he could.

Shock and rage exploded through M. 'Are you suggesting we allow the child to be sacrificed?'

Bond had faced M many times before, but never before had he seen pure, unadulterated rage course through her. The woman seemed to crackle with anger as she glared at him across the expanse of the thick, glossy wood desk. 'No, sir,' he decided was the safest answer after a telling pause.

'You had better not be. The child is known to us, as are her parents. We shall endeavour to retrieve the girl as quickly as possible, before any harm can come to her. Her safety is our first concern, more importantly it is your first concern. From this moment on you live for one reason only, Bond, and that is to rescue this child. Do you understand me?'

There was more to this than met the eye, any fool could see that, and while Bond could be accused of being many things, a fool was not one of them. M was being far too secretive, and his sensors were on high alert. It was a mystery, and one he would relish working on, if only to discover what on earth could make the usually hard edged woman so damned nervous. He only just managed to stop a smirk from forming, instead he adjusted the sleeves of his jacket so they fell more neatly over his shirt cuffs, hoping the action would distract M away from his face.

'Of course, sir. Rescue the child, save the world; it's all the same to me.'

'There's no need to be so damned flippant, Bond,' M growled, but most of the anger had left her voice now, she knew that Bond was on the case, and while he might jest and mock, he would be professional.

She felt the first trace of hope flood her veins. It was dangerous, it was always dangerous to hope in cases involving abduction, and she knew only too well that things could go so wrong. She only had to think of the fiasco that had been the King case and the resulting debacle as events had spiralled beyond her control.

No, M had learnt her lesson with Elektra King. There would be no hesitation; there would only be action, and successful action at that.

She could not let this fail. She would not let it fail.

Nor would she let Bond sabotage this. She slid open a drawer, and pulled out a slim navy envelope, briefly checking the contents before throwing it across the desk to land in front of Bond. It was her secret weapon.

'Your travel documents, 007. As time is of the essence, we travel immediately, leaving this afternoon.'

'"We"', Bond frowned, feeling a small amount of dread at the words.

'I'll be accompanying you, 007. Do you have a problem with that?'

Yes sir. Bond bit his tongue before the ill advised words could escape him. 'Not at all,' he lied through his teeth, throwing in a charming smile for good measure. 'It will be a pleasure.'

M smiled wryly in return, seeing straight through the suave gesture. 'I'm sure it will be.'


	4. Chapter Three

The plane landed as the sun was setting over the sea. Bond glanced out of the window of the small passenger jet and saw an island of contrasts below him. Immediately identifiable as they flew over it was the large cone of Mount Etna, the tempestuous volcano of the island, its lower banks mottled with houses all too aware of how vulnerable they were.

The whole island seemed to shimmer with heat, despite the late hour. Lush rolling green hills covered in vines crept into the centre, while the vivid blue Mediterranean battered the outer edges of the land. It was beautiful, Bond concurred, a private haven away from everything, a place of escapism.

Yet as they prepared for landing, he was struck by doubts about the assignment. M's secrecy had amused him at first, but now it was irritating him. M had barely spoken since they had boarded the plane, instead burying herself into files that Bond was not allowed to access to. Any opportunity to steal a peak at the dark print on the white pages had been met by a reshuffling of pages and an angry glare from his superior.

There was something going on. It made him prickle with frustration, and the intense heat that surrounded them as they landed and made their way to the car just added to his discomfort. The only logical conclusion he could come to was that the child's parents were so 'sensitive' that M was praying that this wouldn't come out. Perhaps a high ranking government figure, or a Member of Parliament, someone who wouldn't want the news that their child had been kidnapped splashed all over the world's media and had called in MI6 to retrieve them with the minimal of fuss.

Whoever it was, they made M nervous.

Sitting on the sticky, overly hot leather rear seat of the official car he grew more and more uncomfortable as M's anxiety grew. Every so often he would feel those icy blue eyes travel over his face, and he would resist the urge to flinch beneath them. It was a ridiculous feeling to have, but he couldn't help it.

James Bond was the best. 007 had always been the best. Whether it was retrieving decoding machines, travelling into space, or preventing yet another megalomaniac from taking over the world with his diabolical plan, Bond could be relied on to do it, with style, panache and usually with a beautiful woman on his arm. He was aware that he was dangerously close to becoming a cliché, but a stint as a prisoner of war had somewhat tamed him. He was getting old, he knew, and he was getting more and more suspicious with each assignment. The horrifying thought was creeping over him that he might have to consider retirement at some point in the future. He was fit, healthy, and still had all his facilities intact, but the truth was he was no longer the young man that had fought so hard during the Cold War, or had the same idealistic views.

As for regrets, yes, he had a few, as the song went. Too many times he had found himself facing the barrel of a gun, or a death in some particularly horrific manner, and wondering just what he had to show for his life. There were too many 'what ifs' and too many possibilities to face. Who would show up at his memorial service? Who would truly mourn James Bond, and not James Bond, 007.

So he ignored them, and worked on the next mission, and bedded the next attractive woman (sometimes painfully aware of the age differences between them) and basked in the glory that was being 007.

They had left the more inhabited parts of the island now, and was travelling higher into the mountains. Bond caught a brief glimpse of a small, traditional looking town before they had passed through in the blink of an eye. A church, a village square, several cafes, restaurants, boutiques and shops, market stalls, all crammed into a valley at the bottom of the hills.

He risked a glance at his travelling companion. M's jaw was set, her chin set stubbornly upright, and her hands firmly clenched together. She caught him looking, and made a determined effort to relax under his security.

And then M did something Bond could hardly believe. Slowly she reached out, and placed her slim, elegant hand over his.

'Just keep calm,' she murmured, backing up her words with a gentle touch of pressure. 'Whatever happens, I order you to keep calm.'

Bond was too surprised to speak. He merely nodded, and glanced outside once more. M's hand left his, but he barely noticed it. Instead he stared at a narrow steep driveway, which ended in a set of metal gates. Armed agents patrolled them; already they had spotted the car and were now muttering instructions into thin black radios.

'Security is high here,' he remarked.

'It should be,' M replied archly, 'I ordered it to be so.'

'What security measures did the family employ before the kidnapping?' Bond asked, ignoring the rebuke.

'Electric gates, panic buttons, both parents are trained in self defence,' the last part was an understatement, but M felt it would do for now. 'As part of their contract with MI6 they were required to check in with an agent of a regular basis, this happened as normal three days before the kidnapping. The family were notoriously private; in fact most of the locals around here were unaware of them.'

Security checks were taking place as they drew up to the gates, but finally, the car came to a stop, and Bond stepped out of the car.

He stopped, and looked around, taking in as many details as he could. The house was actually a villa, built early in the century, with the slightly thrown together look that so many of the buildings constructed at that time had. Set on the edge of the island, the sea spreading out as far as the eye could see, the villa was built in a beautiful location. White washed walls met a brilliant terracotta tiled roof that in some places flattened out into a flat low roof. The windows were shuttered and a heavy wooden traditional front door stood imposingly at the front of the house. To the left lay the sea, to the right there was a garden filled with lush green plants and shady trees. Everything was coated with a fine pink dust that immediately smothered Bond's shoes. He frowned down at them in some annoyance.

M contented herself with a brief analytical glance around before strolling confidently up to the front door and stepping inside.

Bond followed. Inside, it was cool and airy, and Bond was relieved to get out of the heat. Everything was tasteful, and elegant, uncluttered and light. Even though agents swarmed all over the house taking samples, searching for evidence, it didn't hide the cosiness of the house. Peering through a doorway Bond found a living room filled with chocolate brown leather sofas, and thick cream rugs on warm floorboards. His eye was drawn to the most vivid splash of colour in the room, a dark red stain spread out on one of the rugs.

Blood.

The mother had been attacked, this must have been where. The almost crescent shaped stain suggested she had lain there for some time before either coming around or being found.

He paused. There was something about the home that was bothering him. He took a deep breath and nearly choked as a familiar scent hit him. It was faint, but it was there, cool and fresh, and he suddenly could smell only that.

He couldn't place it though. It was something he hadn't smelt for years, and he frowned, trying to figure out why it had made him react so violently.

'Through here,' M caught his attention, dragging him away from his mystery scent. She was standing at the end of a narrow arched corridor, holding a glass door open.

He stepped out onto a terrace, a softly lit, romantic terrace, covered with tiles, and potted plants. It was cooling down, as the sun sank lower into the sky and that sky was streaked with purple clouds.

Bond saw none of this.

He was staring at the woman sitting at the table.

Her head was in her hands, her dark hair caught between her fingers as she struggled to hold back the sobs that threatened to break free at any moment. For a terrible moment he knew her, but didn't recognise her, thinking perhaps it was an ex lover, but then he truly saw her.

He froze.

The hair was different, slightly longer, and lighter than he remembered it, bleached by the sun to a warm brown, her skin was tanned, but apart from that she hadn't changed in the six years since he had saw her.

The blood rushed to his head, he couldn't think, he felt numb. He merely watched as she sat, dressed in jeans and a sleeveless t shirt, her bare feet swinging beneath the table. He tried to call to her, but it was too late.

M had pushed forward, and now held out her arms to the young woman.

'Ashleigh.'

Ashleigh stumbled to her feet, and into the waiting embrace, clinging onto M desperately. 'They took her,' she moaned, 'They took my little girl.'

'I know they did, child,' M stroked the dark hair in a maternal gesture that seemed entirely right. 'I know they did, but we'll find her, we'll get her back for you.'

He could see the top of Ashleigh's head nodding as she buried her face in M's shoulder, holding onto the words for the scant comfort they provided. Blinking, she raised her head and then she saw James.

It had indeed been six years since Bond had last seen his goddaughter. The Ashleigh Kain he had known then had been fighting her way through the ranks at MI6, stubborn and idealistic. She had been heading for the top if only she had been able to curb her independent nature, the one mission they had shared had been not exactly a disaster, but had come close to creating an undeniable break in the relationship they had shared. He had thought that if she had seriously tried she might have one day held 00 status.

And then suddenly she had gone.

Vanished.

Working abroad, M had told him, a long term undercover assignment. M had refused to meet his eyes as she had told him, focusing instead on the file in front of her, her favourite way of breaking eye contact.

But Ashleigh hadn't completely vanished. He'd received letters, emails, always from different addresses, always brief and vague about what exactly she had been doing. He hadn't expected more, and in time, she had simply been a memory while he got on with his job.

He would never have stood in the way of her career. Even if a grudging part of him had missed her.

Now she stood before him, and somehow, she looked younger than he had ever seen her. Dark shadows were smudged under eyes, eyes that were filled with tears just waiting to be shed. She was pale, and her skin blotchy, obviously she had spent time crying recently.

Her temple and forehead was a riot of bruising, in the centre of the purples there was a deep gash held together by stitches. Whoever had hit her had hit her hard, and she winced as he saw it as if just his scrutiny hurt her. On her bare arms were bruises where the door had hit her. Her red rimmed eyes followed his gaze, and she shrugged to dismiss them. They weren't important she seemed to say.

'James?' she whispered, disbelievingly.

He didn't have to say anything. There was nothing he could say, nothing he could ever say would make her feel better right now and any words of sympathy he might try would merely fall flat. He simply held out his arms to her, as he would have when she was a child.

The tears began to fall from her eyes as she threw herself into his embrace.


	5. Chapter Four

A/N: Hopefully this chapter should answer some questions. I'm currently about three chapters ahead of you readers, I really have no idea what is happening until I start writing.

And someone, mentioning no names of course, finally decides to make an appearance.

Thank you for all of your reviews ... they really make my day, and leave me grinning like a lunatic for hours. And no... you can never be too over enthusiastic in your reviews (****winks at Adri).

Married life means either not writing or one neglected husband.

Oh well, he's getting used to it. (grin)

* * *

The photo sat on the table, covered in smudged fingerprints. Three people all stared at it, but only Ashleigh could truly see it. Her fingers would reach out, and touch it, then jerk back as if burned. She would look away, and then moments later, the action would be repeated.

Bond and M watched her, concerned. She had said barely anything since they had arrived, only sitting quietly as if waiting for something, or someone, and in a way, Bond rather supposed she was. Every noise she heard, she looked up as if she expected her daughter to walk in at any moment.

Bond could bear it no longer. Reaching over he snatched the picture up, ignoring the small cry of protest from his goddaughter. She slumped back into her chair as M held up a warning hand.

'Let him see, Ashleigh. He needs to be able to recognise her after all.'

How could he not recognise her? Bond thought with a shiver as he stared down at the photograph. The picture was presumably recent, and showed a little girl with her mother's dark hair and round face. It could have been Ashleigh at that age, he realised, thinking back to when he had known her as a child. The same mischievous smile, and unruly hair but, to his surprise, the girl didn't have her mother's eyes.

Ashleigh's eyes were brown, a dark, rich colour, that could flash amber when she was angry, but were usually warm and smiling.

Ashleigh's daughter's eyes were a cold grey green.

The air was forced from his lungs with shock.

He had seen those eyes before, too many times.

In the child's face they were softened by the thick lashes, and the halo of dark hair, brightened by the pretty smile and the soft, rosy cheeks. But...

His suspicions were growing again. He knew those eyes. M turned away, refusing to answer the question that she knew had formed in Bond's mind, as he pieced together the events of the last few years. He was coming to a conclusion he didn't particularly want to consider.

'Why would anyone want to kidnap your daughter?' he snarled, his tone demanding Ashleigh answer.

She flinched away, trying to escape the venom in her godfather's voice, knowing that the inevitable had come at last.

'Answer me!'

'They took her because... because...' she stuttered, trying to form the words, but Bond had already grabbed her left hand, yanking it viciously across the table so he could see it.

The white metal band glinted harshly in the dying light, fitting perfectly on the third finger of her left hand.

It was all coming crashing into place. He stared at her, accusing her with hardened blue eyes. He didn't want to make the connection, but it was there, forming in his mind, he had a sudden image of sleek blond hair on a head that was bent to meet Ashleigh's willing lips.

'Bond...' M warned, leaning over to intervene, but she was too late.

The smell hit him again, filling Bond's nostrils, threatening to choke him once more, and suddenly, painfully he was dragged back to a day years ago in Cuba when that same smell had surrounded him, that scent combined with the smell of blood, sweat, and mechanical oil, thickened by the heat and tinged with death.

One man had died, but he had lived, and lived only to mock James.

The cut glass accent sliced through the evening like a knife, and just as damaging.

'Because she's my daughter too, or hadn't you realised that yet, James?'

For several seconds there was nothing but silence, and the women held their breath.

Bond leapt to his feet, black rage clear on his face for all to see. His fists were already clenched, reaching out for the throat of the newcomer, and all he could think about was death, this man was supposed to be dead, and by god, he'd finish the job now.

Alec Trevelyan stood calmly, a sneer on his face. He saw Bond move towards him and with lightning speed reached out and grabbed the lapels of Bond's suit jacket. With almost lazy contempt he threw the other man to one side, and Bond staggered, his reactions dulled by anger. Fury was overcoming him, disgust churned in his stomach, and deep within him, hidden in the very depths of his soul he recognised an emotion that he had always associated with Alec.

Envy.

Alec had taken Ashleigh, had coerced her into a relationship, had taken one of the few people that Bond had ever truly cared for, and he had kept her, married her, fathered her child, and now he stood with arrogance on his face, and deceit surrounded him.

'Sit down!' M thundered, and Ashleigh visibly recoiled at the anger in the woman's voice. Alec paused, torn between amusement at Bond's reaction, and the hatred that had grown between the two former friends. James froze, the agent reacting immediately to a command, and he turned, stiffly, slowly, and with the greatest dignity he could muster sat back into his seat.

'Alec, sit,' M ordered, and without protest he did, one hand reaching out for Ashleigh's shaking hand. He stared at James as he did so, as if willing the other man to protest at the gesture.

The four of them sat in stony silence, broken only by the occasional hitched breath from Ashleigh as she struggled to remain in control of her emotions, and fought to stay calm. Bond glowered, Alec came close to smirking, and M remained as still as a statue. The tablature was filled with tension.

The last time Bond had seen Alec Trevelyan had been on a frozen Russian morning. He had listened as Alec had growled at Ashleigh, seen the anger grow within the young woman, and watched with some degree of satisfaction as Ashleigh had turned and with a vicious right hook hit the scarred face as hard as she could. It had been the end of a painful episode for Bond, or so he had thought.

James Bond and Alec Trevelyan had been the best. The best agents within the 00 sector, the most charming pair of bachelors the female population of London had ever had the pleasure of meeting, and above all else, the best of friends. Fiercely loyal to each other and aware that their friendship was held together by the most tenuous of threads they had become closer than had perhaps had been good for them. Agents weren't supposed to become close; agents weren't expected to cultivate friendships, for agents had short lives, and even shorter careers. Too much could happen, too much could be betrayed.

There had been betrayal in their friendship.

The assignment had been difficult, but manageable. Invade a suspected weapons compound, remove as much threat as possible, confirm MI6's suspicions about what exactly the Russians were holding there, blow it up and then get the hell out again.

Almost routine to Bond.

Yet something had gone wrong, and Bond had called to Alec and heard nothing but silence. His instincts on alert, he had crept back to find him, and been faced with every agent's worse nightmare.

Alec, kneeling on the floor, stonily staring at nothing, acutely aware of the pistol jabbing into his head. Ourumov, triumphant, mocking, telling Bond to give it up.

Do it, Alec had howled, finish the job. He had had Alec's permission. He couldn't save his friend, he knew he couldn't, Alec knew he couldn't and so Alec had set him free, absolved him of responsibility. Alec knew the risks and now his luck had run out, death was waiting for him. Bond could only finish the job, and hoped that Alec saw the apology in his eyes. There would be no chance for goodbye, and so, Bond had taken the only opportunity he had had.

They had agreed six minutes for the timers. 'Six minutes for 006,' Alec had joked, six minutes to escape before the place was blown to kingdom come.

Alec had been counting on the six minutes. For his own plan.

It had required only a simple push of a button to half the time, cutting the timers down to three minutes.

In this action, Alec believed Bond had betrayed him.

The gunshot had rang out, painfully loud after the cruel monotony of Ourumov's countdown, Alec's final cry; 'For England!' still echoing in Bond's ears and Alec had fallen in battle. At last those green eyes had been extinguished.

Bond hadn't been able to look. He couldn't bear to see his friend's lifeless body. He needed to escape alive. Yet at the same time, a part of him died with Alec, he had lost his closest friend, and Bond began to believe that all he loved, all he let close to him died. Tracey, his wife, had died, Felix, his American contact had been left for dead and Felix's beautiful wife Della killed on the night of their wedding, the wedding that Bond had been best man at. Now Alec was dead, and grief hardened him once more.

He had escaped alive as the facility burned beneath him.

Six months later had brought another death and more grief to Bond's life. 009 had been executed in Siberia during a raid. Bond, still grieving for Alec, had been stunned by the news, and by the similarities of his friends' deaths. David Kain had been his friend, had been Alec's friend too, together the three of them had formed an unholy trinity of comradeship. Now Bond was the only one left. David had been the calming influence on his playboy friends, a widower with a teenaged daughter. David had been a ruthless agent, but a family man at heart, and when his daughter had been born shortly after James had lost his wife, he had asked his friend to be godfather, hoping to distract him from his grief. Bond had finally agreed, and Ashleigh Kain had had a godfather who while frequently away had always lavished attention on her when he had returned.

Nine years later, and Bond had been back in Russia searching for a prototype helicopter, and a mysterious device codenamed 'Golden Eye'. One man had been behind it all, a secretive underworld figure nicknamed 'Janus'. In a fog filled graveyard of communist statues he had come face to face with the notorious man himself.

Alec Trevelyan had survived. Having learnt of his heritage, he had been driven to avenge his parents' deaths. His family had been Lienz Cossacks, those that had sort sanctuary from the British, but Britain had betrayed them, and they had no choice but to return to Stalin's punishment. Alec's father and mother had been too proud to face such defeat, and had agreed on a pact. Alec's father had taken his wife's life, and then a moment later; his own. In an ironic twist, the orphaned Alec had been taken in by England, remembering little of his former life. Eventually he had joined the British Secret Service, and suddenly he had discovered his past. Now Alec was driven to revenge against England, and using the Goldeneye device, he would wreck havoc on London. And become at the same time, in his own words, richer than God. There was more to his revenge though, a personal revenge against the man who had betrayed him. Expecting the six minutes at Arkangel, they had timed their escape perfectly. But Bond had tricked them, and as the flames roared towards him, Alec had known his former friend had betrayed him. He would have his revenge for those lost three minutes.

Bond saw only his friend, whom he thought dead, one side of his face scarred from the fire. Janus personified, two faces upon one, one side smooth, and still Alec, the other this new, hate fuelled Alec, the Alec who had betrayed James.

He had betrayed James, and all James believed in. Betrayed England, Queen and Country.

In a vicious fight high above a giant satellite dish, Alec and James had fought. Fought not only for control, but for supremacy. Once friends, now bitter enemies, they had used all they had been taught, all they knew against each other, almost perfectly matched. Alec had lost, falling to his death.

No one could have survived that fall. No one could have survived the flaming, twisted hulking mass that was the remains of the transmitter falling upon them.

Yet Alec did. His body had been broken, his spirit humbled, and his recovery had been long and painful. Finally though, he had escaped back to Russia, once more a powerful man, but for more legitimate reasons. Few knew his identity and he had been content to hide in the shadows until he had been forced out.

A stolen super-virus, a new threat rising, and MI6 had been worried. They had sent for Bond, and Bond had gone, but Bond had not been alone.

Ashleigh Kain had grown up in the time that Alec Trevelyan had been hiding and during his attempt for world domination. Intelligent, physically fit, and as stubborn as her godfather she had joined MI6 in her early twenties after learning who exactly her father had been. Discovering her godfather was a secret agent, and the top spy in the country had been a shock to her, but she had known that she had wanted the same career, and had been determined to follow in her father's and her godfather's footsteps.

She might have, had she not met Alec Trevelyan. They had been played for fools against each other, Alec reluctantly being drawn into the search for the Hermes virus. He had been close to her father, and had known her as a child, but now, the young woman who could one minute be pleading for his help, the next stubbornly defiant, held a new interest. She had grown into an attractive woman, fiercely proud, and had been so like David it had been frightening. Neither of them had been able to deny the attraction that had existed between them.

Their relationship had been fiery, unorthodox, and yet, Alec had been powerless to help himself. M, sensing his weakness for her agent, had slowly dragged him back to MI6, offering immunity in return for assistance.

Bond had been furious. Alec was merely using Ashleigh as a form of revenge, using Bond's goddaughter to attack Bond. M had been adamant in her decision, and she had allowed Alec to assist in the mission, it was through Alec they had gained access to the virus.

On that cold morning as Ashleigh and Bond had faced death, Ashleigh and Alec had quarrelled. Her father had died because of his weakness, Alec had taunted the girl, as would she.

She had hit him, cursed him, and been dragged away by Bond. It was the last time that he had seen the scarred bastard.

Good riddance, he had thought. In England it was easier to pretend that Alec had indeed died, and that he remained dead. Bond had fallen easily back into his career, but Ashleigh had struggled to maintain her focus. Things had changed for her in the time that she had spent with Alec, and somehow, her goals hadn't been the same as before Russia.

And then she had vanished.

She had been here. In Sicily. With Alec. She had married him, and borne him a child, and now that child was missing, and Bond had been called in to find her.

What the hell had M been thinking?

Bond fumed, his fists still clenched. Glancing up he caught the eye of the older woman who coloured slightly and looked away, guilt all too apparent in her eyes.

She had known. She had known that Alec and Ashleigh had been together, had known that they had a child. No wonder she had been reluctant to come out with the information.

He would never have come if he had known. Now he was here in the bastard's house, and expected to make the most it.

Like hell he would.

The wood screeched on the tiles as he pushed his chair back for a second time. He was walking out of here, back to the car, back to whatever dump of a hotel this area had to offer, and there he would order the strongest bottle of alcohol he could find and drink it steadily down to the dregs. And then with a raging hangover, he would get back on the plane and return to England where he would repeat the process in his own home.

Damn M and her meddling. Damn Alec to the hell he deserved. Alec's child could rot for all he cared. Find some other agent to stage a dramatic rescue.

'James?' Ashleigh's voice was quiet, but the question was clear in it.

He didn't reply, he didn't look up; he just turned his back and walked away. He was washing his hands of this entire thing.

'James? Where are you going?' and this time there was panic in his goddaughter's voice.

'Let him go,' he heard Alec snarl, and still he refused to turn.

'Alec...' he heard Ashleigh speak through gritted teeth. 'Just go inside, or anything. Just go away. Now!'

There was a long pause, and Bond couldn't help but hesitate. He had never heard any one but M order Alec to do something and he was curious to discover what his reaction was.

'Ashleigh is right. Go inside, Alec, and find your wife something to drink and me too for that matter. You're being a lousy host.'

He heard the door slam moments later.

'James, please?'

At last he turned, and he saw determination in Ashleigh's eyes.

'They took my daughter,' she whispered. 'They attacked me, and they took my little girl. Her name is Natasha, and she's only five years old. I don't know why they've taken her, or where they have, and M won't let me look for her myself. I need the best, James, and you've always been the best. I need your help, I won't trust anyone else. Please, just don't walk away now. Because if you do, I might never see her again, and that scares me so much. I just want her back, and I need you to find her.'

There was a quiet dignity to her explanation, there was no pleading, just quiet insistence, she calmly placed her cards on the table and let him see her hand.

Bond paused. Ashleigh dragged her eyes to his, and waited, without realising she was holding her breath. He saw the cut on her head, and her bruises, and knew that she would never have given up her child without a fight, no parent would, and how frightened she was.

M was waiting too. She was playing a dangerous game bringing Bond and Trevelyan's paths together once more, and she had seen the absolute hatred that had passed between them. Ashleigh was their only common link now, and M was clinging onto the hope that it might be enough to suspend hostilities for a while.

He couldn't breathe. Ashleigh had always been able to appeal to his inner conscience, a skill she had learned as a child. He jerked his head in what might have been a nod, but the two women couldn't be sure. Before they had the opportunity to ask, he slid the door to the house open and disappeared inside.

Inside it was cool, and somehow calmer than it had been outside. Bond let the shadows soothe him, he could still feel the rage burning within him, settling under his lungs until he thought it would suffocate him.

'Drink?'

Bond turned quickly, and saw Alec holding out a glass to him.

'No.'

Alec raised an eyebrow. 'Don't be petulant, James. It won't kill you.'

'Debatable.'

Alec shrugged and placed the glass down on a low bookshelf. 'As you wish.'

James had a brief moment of wondering if he had fallen into a rabbit hole, or through a looking glass. The fact that he was standing in his arch rival's sitting room, being offered a drink as if he were an honoured guest seemed almost too mind-boggling to fathom. But his thirst was raging, and the drink too tempting, so with a reckless snatch he threw the icy liquid down his throat.

'Let me explain something, James,' Alec whispered in a low voice that left no room for argument. 'I can understand perfectly that you have absolutely no desire to be involved in this mission, and in all truth, I don't want you involved either. But there is more than our personal vendetta at stake here. Take a look around. This is my home now. No, not just my home. My family's home.'

'My heart bleeds for you.'

'Of course it does. But this is something you can't understand. Look at me. I have everything to lose, and whoever has done this knows it. If I had remained at MI6 I would have never had had this. I would have been just like you, a star agent, but ultimately married to my work. I would have enjoyed short, hurried affairs, before heading out into the night to save the world. You're alone, James, but I'm not. I have Ashleigh, and I have...' His voice trailed off, and for the first time Bond heard genuine pain as the agony of the situation hit him once more. 'I had Natasha. My daughter, my child. Someone out there has her, and if I could, I would kill every single one of them to get her back. Believe me,' he gave a hollow, bitter laugh, 'I'm aware of the irony that it is you that will be searching for my child.'

He looked past Bond, to the window that looked out over the terrace. He could see Ashleigh there, staring blankly at nothing. At some point she had plucked a flower from a nearby plant and was now unknowingly shredding it between her fingers.

'Just remember this, James,' Alec spoke again, and the coldness in his voice cut through the tension in the room. 'Natasha may be my daughter, but she's also Ashleigh's. I don't expect you to do anything for me, but just remember Ash.'

For a moment James weighed up the satisfaction of smashing his fist into his old friend's face against M's wrath if he did so, but reluctantly, he let his hands uncurl. Alec did have a point. He would never be able to refuse this for Ashleigh. And it was true. The child may be half Alec's but she had Kain blood in her too. Ashleigh's daughter and David's grandchild.

'For her, Alec,' he snarled, 'Only for her.'

She couldn't stop shivering, she was cold, so cold, despite the warmth of the night. In fascination she pressed her hand against her arm, and felt the heat there, but still she shivered, still she couldn't get warm.

She felt empty, a strange hollowness inside her, and an empty space that was filling rapidly with fear. Subconsciously she trailed her hand over her abdomen, remembering the months she had carried her daughter in there, the heavy, comforting weight that had been her little girl, the place where no one could take her from.

She had thought that about this place. This place, the home that despite its luxury, despite their freedom, had been a safe house. She glanced around, seeing everything and seeing nothing all at once.

'Ashleigh?' A slim, ageing hand slid cross the table to touch hers. 'Ashleigh, you must listen to me.'

She nodded numbly. 'I am.'

'Good girl,' M grasped the hand. 'I know you want Natasha back, we all do. We are going to do everything that we can. Even James is here, and you know how good James is. We're going to get her back, and she's is going to be fine, and you have to be strong for her when she gets back, you have to be strong for her.'

'I know,' the comment about James had raised a ghost of a smile. James would do everything he could to get her child back, she knew it.

'Now when did you last sleep?'

'I – I don't know...' She had to pull herself together, she would be no good to anyone if she couldn't get a grip on reality and on herself.

Did the brief period of unconsciousness count? Did lying on the floor while strangers took her child count as sleep? She struggled to hold back the tears, feeling control slipping through her fingers.

'Yesterday.' Alec stepped outside, carrying a soft grey blanket. Bond followed, stony faced, and watched as the man he despised more than anyone else in the world wrapped the blanket round his goddaughter's shoulders with a tenderness he had never seen in Alec before.

Crouching behind Ashleigh, Alec wrapped his arms round her, holding the blanket close to her, brushing his lips against her cheek.

Bond's scowl deepened. He wondered if this was all a show for him, but there was something in the way that Ashleigh immediately relaxed into his embrace that spoke of familiarity and he realised with a jolt that they were indeed a couple. A married couple. Ashleigh Kain was now Ashleigh Trevelyan.

He looked away as quickly as he could, staring out to sea.

'I think you should go to bed, Ashleigh, and try and sleep. There's not really anything you can do right now, and you need to keep your strength up. There's a doctor here, would you like me to ask him to give you something to help you sleep?'

Ashleigh's head snapped up. Was M suggesting she resort to sleeping pills? The fire blazed in her eyes as she prepared herself to protest.

Then as suddenly as it had came, the anger went, the fire died, and she nodded dully. 'Alright.'

She wanted to sleep. She wanted to forget.

M nodded, and gestured to an agent that had been hovering nearby. The doctor would be fetched.

Bond watched, concerned. Ashleigh had always hated sleeping tablets, refusing them after her father's death, and continuing to do so throughout her adulthood. He glanced at Alec, and saw the same concern echoed on the other man's face. He snorted, realising that the bastard had been right. He'd do it, but only for Ashleigh and for Ashleigh's daughter.

It was time for him to leave, and M knew it too. She stood, one hand gripping Ashleigh's in goodbye, a nod to Alec and then she joined Bond. She didn't speak until they were in the car.

She lifted her regal hand in a wave of defeat. 'Just don't say a word, 007, don't say a word.'


	6. Chapter Five

A/N: Bond's relationship, and subsequent marriage to Tracy (played by the absolutely beautiful and iconic Diana Rigg) can be found in 'On Her Majesty's Secret Service'. Excellent Bond film – shame about George Lazenbury. Watch, enjoy the story, and then imagine just how superb it could have been with either Connery, Brosnan or even Dalton in the role.

And yes. The ending makes me cry. I just have to hear the opening strains of 'We Have All the Time in the World' for the sniffles to start.

* * *

As Bond was making good on his promise to have a drink in his lonely hotel room, Alec was watching as his wife's brown eyes slowly closed. She lay in the vast softness of their bed, the covers tucked up to her chin watching him as he fussed in the room.

The pill was taking hold quickly, dragging Ashleigh into the embrace of sleep, but she was fighting hard, trying to remember all that had been said that day.

'Do you think she's ok?' she whispered.

Alec paused, as the now familiar stab of pain went straight through his heart. How could he say all that he feared when Ashleigh was so confident that their daughter would be found?

'I imagine so,' he snapped shortly.

She stared at him, hurt, and with a pointed gesture, she turned over, facing away from him.

He sat next to her, trying to find a way to comfort her, but failing. 'Just sleep, Ash.'

'Why should I? It's not like I'm going to wake up and find her back home.'

No. That was highly unlikely. No matter how much it tore at him. He bent his head, brushing his lips against hers. 'Just sleep.'

The pill obediently took her then, her breathing deepened and she slipped over the edge into sleep.

He slid into the bed, and wished that he could sleep so easily. Finally he did.

Alec dreamt.

_His skin was blistered, he could feel the rawness of the damage skin with every expression, could feel it crack and break under the pressure of shifting position. Each scowl, each frown, each word he spoke brought new flashes of pain. It was easier to keep silent than to speak, to keep his face void of emotion. _

_The snow was falling more thickly than he had seen it in all his time here, and he marched outside, determined to feel the cold flakes settle onto his burning skin. His appearance was menacing, and no one stood in his way as he slammed the compound door open._

_Fumbling in his pocket he found a battered packet of cigarettes and a heavy silver lighter. Since the explosion his desire for them had faded, the sight of the burning tip flaring with each inhale bringing unwelcome flashbacks to that day, the flames rising higher and higher, before streaking down the corridor towards him, devouring all that stood in the way, the air forcibly dragged from his lungs as the fire stole the oxygen from him..._

_No, he wouldn't think of that. He wouldn't think of the fire, or of the betrayal by the English bastard... his friend... now his enemy..._

_No._

_He pushed the memories away and drew heavily on the cigarette, letting the nicotine creep into his lungs, warming him. _

_He would never complain about the cold again, not after the feel of fire on his skin. _

_Laughter drew his attention, and he watched as two armed guards strolled past. They saw the dark faced man, and saluted briskly, despite the fact he wore no sign of rank. He didn't need to; they all knew who he was. He didn't bother returning the salute, he merely turned his attention back to the falling snow, tucking his chin further into the fur lined jacket he wore. _

_But he was listening, listening to what they would say as they walked away, thinking they were out of earshot. He had always had exceptional hearing, and he used it now. Let them talk, let them laugh, he knew what they would be saying. _

_His burned face, his hair only just growing back after being singed away, or if they weren't focusing on his appearance, they would be discussing his defection, it was common knowledge that he had been a British Secret Agent. Even his native Russian was tinged with the cut glass English accent developed after his adoption to the small, proud island. _

'_English spy.'_

_The words caught his attention, and for a moment he thought they were discussing him. No, it wasn't him, they had caught and killed two British agents that afternoon, one shot in action, another executed. _

_As a lesson to England and her Queen._

_A snarling smile broke his face in two, and for once he ignored the pain this action caused. Viciously he stubbed the half smoked cigarette out under his heel and headed towards the East Wing of the compound – an old prison used to house the unfortunate that had been sent to work on the icy tundra of Siberia. The courtyard was used as a punishment area, floggings were still common and used as a form of discipline. He thought it a crude method, and only reluctantly could he be forced to watch such basic brutality. _

_There were better ways to break a man than by whipping him, and Trevelyan knew too many. _

_The men were as lazy as ever, he noticed as he rounded a corner, his thick heavy boots driving the powdery snow to slush on the flagstones. _

_A single body lay where it had fallen, and he smirked to see it. It would be dragged away, and if they were lucky, it would be buried later. An unmarked grave for an unmarked hero. Such a poignant end, he thought mockingly to himself. _

_The black cloth was a stark contrast to the white snow, as was the dark hair that was being gently ruffled by the ice filled wind. _

_Alec's heart stopped. Too many feelings assaulted him at once for him to truly know what he felt, but rage seemed to grow, and make itself known above all others._

_His revenge had been taken from him. _

_This death should have been on his hands._

_He should have pulled the trigger._

_From here he could see the entry wound of the bullet, blasted into the top of the skull. A single bullet, close range and death would have been swift, perhaps even painless. There would be no exit wound; the bullet would remain lodged inside the skull, slowed by the thick brain matter. The men knew how to do the job as cleanly as possible. _

_It should have been his task. It was his goddamn right, his goddamn revenge._

_Bond should have died at his hand._

_Bond was dead._

_James was dead, his old friend, and a part of Alec grieved. He was sweating despite the chill temperatures, but there was a sense of triumph growing within him, and suddenly he needed confirmation, he needed to see those blue eyes finally dulled by death._

_He lodged his toe beneath the dead man's ribs and with a vicious kick, rolled them over._

_He gagged._

_Horror rose like bile in his throat, and then the bile was real, and he was on his knees, choking, spitting the vile liquid into the snow beside the already cold body._

_Not James. It wasn't James. _

_James had betrayed him, James was gone to him, but there had been a friend that Alec had regretted, regretted not saying goodbye to, and regretted leaving behind._

_David would have been too loyal to even consider Alec's offer, and Alec had known it. So he had never offered, and David had never known._

_Never known of his friend's defection. _

_The dark hair was the same, but sticky with blood, the snow beneath his head was stained the colour of poppies._

_David Kain was dead. _

_Frantically, Alec scrambled towards his friend's body, cradling its dull weight in his arms. He stared down at the still features, the strong jaw, the mouth that had just been slightly too full, the thick heavy brows that would knit together when something puzzled him. _

_David was dead._

_Alec closed his eyes against the horror. He felt dizzy, disorientated, and more alone than he had ever been in his life. Tears stung his scorched skin._

_He opened his eyes again, and the horror increased tenfold. _

_David's daughter lay in his arms; her dark hair matted with blood, her skin as white as snow, and her usually pink lips coloured now only by the blood that dried there. _

'_Ashleigh,' he tried to gasp, but she was dead, dead and gone from him, as dead as her father had been. _

_Her eyes opened. _

_They weren't their usual deep brown, the colour she had inherited from her father, no; they were the same cold grey green as his, his daughter's eyes._

_He had come full circle._

_David had died, and he had married David's daughter. But she would die now, and he would cradle her lifeless body, and after that it would be his daughter's turn... It was to be his punishment, to lose all that he gained, to have the good taken out of his world. Already Natasha had been taken..._

_In his dream, Alec began to scream. _

He woke in a cold sweat, and fumbling for water, his hand shaking so badly he managed to spill most of it before he could get it to his mouth, but finally he was able to drink the cool liquid. Wiping his hand across his face he felt the sweat there.

Ashleigh still slept soundly, knocked out by the earlier tablet. Even in sleep she didn't relax, there was a deep crease between her eyebrows as she frowned. Her hands were tucked under her jaw, clenching at something he couldn't see.

He loved her. The realisation had been a slow and difficult one, but gradually he had come to accept it.

He had never told her about the dreams. He didn't think she'd understand. In his own way, perhaps he was protecting her.

It didn't matter anyway, because it hadn't happened like that.

But it was easier to think of it that way.

It was easier to push everything aside than to worry about what was happening now. He felt... his hands clutched at the sheets... he felt so damned helpless, and somewhere out there somebody had his daughter, and he was doing nothing. He had to do something. It was useless to just lie there and pretend, trying to convince Ash that everything would be ok. He would kill every single one of them... he would tear them to pieces with his bare hands when he found them.

The futility of the situation washed over him again. He could do nothing!

It was still dark outside, and so Alec turned over, blocking out all thoughts, and forced himself back into sleep.

He didn't dream again.

Bond glared at the half drunk bottle of whiskey sitting on the table next to him. He would have infinitely preferred vodka, but he had a distinct aversion to anything Russian at that moment in time. Alec had given him vodka, and the taste had been sour in his mouth.

He was beginning to recover from the shock of discovering the happy family.

There had always been a rivalry between Alec and James. At first it had been a subconscious contest, who could bed the prettiest girl, who could drink the most without suffering a raging hangover the next morning, who could complete the most dangerous mission, who had the best scar...

Everything, it had all been a contest but they had always been friends. Until the Goldeneye incident. The rivalry between the two of them had been out in the open, James against Alec, 007 against Janus and Bond had won. Alec, Janus had died, beaten at long last.

Alec had cheated death, and it had been his assistance that had led to success on that frozen December day in the cold icy water when Ashleigh and Bond had retrieved the Hermes virus. And Bond would never forget that. The bitterness seethed through his veins.

Now it seemed that Alec had won again. He had what Bond had never had. He had a wife, a child, a happy life, a peaceful life. Bond had once wanted those things, and in Tracy he thought he had found them.

Tracy had been killed before they had even made it to their honeymoon. From that moment on Bond swore he would remain alone forever. He would never allow someone that close to him again, because it only ever came to pain.

Alec and Ashleigh were learning that now. They had dared to flout the rules and now they were paying the price.

A daughter. Alec was a father. A strangled laugh escaped Bond before he could stop it. Alec who had always detested the idea of fatherhood, Alec who's biggest fear had been discovering one of his many girlfriends was pregnant was now embracing being father with all his strength.

He had a sudden urge to share the joke. When things went wrong, he always knew who he could turn to. And who would appreciate the twisted humour of the situation. He fumbled in his case until he found the slim silver communications device, pressing a few buttons he waited for connection.

'Moneypenny,' he purred.

'Negative, 007,' a smooth, slightly accented voice replied. 'Moneypenny is not available.'

'Who is this?' he snapped.

There was a pause. 'I'm requesting a secure connection, please wait 007.'

There was another long pause during which Bond frowned, wondering why on earth Moneypenny was absent. Finally, there was a click, and Bond knew the line was secure.

'Connection confirmed, 007, how may I assist you?'

The voice was female, rich, low, but with a slight accent that Bond couldn't place over the line.

'Who is this?' he snapped, feeling irked that Moneypenny was for once not at his beck and call.

'Agent Van Dien.'

Van Dien. He couldn't place the name, but if she was privy to open communication with 00 agents, she must be a high ranking agent.

'Requesting visual connection,' he ordered.

The small screen blinked, and then expanded. The background was the same as ever, familiar and comforting, the interior of Moneypenny's office. There was a brief glimpse of a dark coloured suit jacket as someone sat down, and then, he saw her.

A mane of dark curls tumbled down to the shoulders of her severely cut suit. Hazel eyes were trapped behind dark framed glasses, and a wide, generous mouth smiled shyly.

Bond sat up, wishing he wasn't quite so slouched, or rumpled. His tie had been discarded a long time ago, his shirt collar was undone, his jaw was dark with stubble, and he was only glad she couldn't smell the Irish whiskey fumes that must surround him.

'So what can I do for you, 007?' she asked in that husky voice. With an unconscious gesture, she threw her chestnut curls over her shoulder.

Bond could think of several things that she could have done for him at that moment in time, glancing at the olive skin, and the layer of satin over well defined curves. But there were more important things at that moment.

'You're aware of the assignment I'm working on?'

'Yes, 007.'

'Good. I need information. I need a list of all high ranking KGB agents known to be operating seventeen years ago. Can you do that for me?'

'I can do almost anything, 007,' Van Dien smiled, and in that smile, there was a hint of a promise.

He flipped the communicator shut with a satisfied click. Leaning back on the pillows, he reached for the bottle and poured another shot.

This time though it was in celebration.


	7. Chapter Six

A/N:  Thank you for all the reviews.  Yes, Pussicle, glasses.  Nice glasses.  Ner.  De Ner. 

Mr alleymap bought me Sims 2 recently.  Am pleased to report that after an uncomfortable start, Alec and Ashleigh are married (although both required therapy straight afterwards...) and are currently learning to cook.  They have several friends, and both are, worryingly, attempting to embark on several affairs.  This shall be nipped in the bud of course. 

Here we are, chapter six, after a short delay.  With a brief warning for mild swearing.

* * *

Bond's distinct chirpiness (cunningly disguised as 'smugness') was noted by M the next morning and met with a frown of disapproval.

'If you could at least try to contain your glee, James,' she murmured as they approached what Bond refused to think of as anything more as the scene of the crime. 'We are dealing with a very sensitive issue.'

'Yes, yes, the abduction.'

'Kidnapping.'

'Is there a difference?'

'Yes, Bond, there is. One involves a young girl. The daughter of your goddaughter to be precise. Do try to remember.'

It was the blow to take the wind out of Bond's sails. If Ashleigh was a substitute daughter, thrown into Bond's precarious care during infancy in a fraternal gesture between friends, then her daughter was indeed proof of Bond's further descent into age.

And M knew it.

As they ducked through the light damp mist that covered the island, Bond wondered if he should be keeping score.

Inside the house, the last of the forensic team were finishing up their investigation. Bond hovered on the edge, watching, determined to avoid any sort of contact with Alec. He was acting like a school boy, he knew it, but it was far easier than facing that penetrating stare.

'Hey,' a quiet voice murmured behind him.

Ashleigh stood there, wrapped against the chill of the day in thick wool, holding out a cup of coffee to him. She held an identical cup, a new habit he noted, and a faint frown lined her face.

'How are you?' he asked stiffly.

'Fine, considering,' she forced a smile. It failed to smooth out the crease between her eyebrows.

'And...' he struggled with the words, the name.

'Alec?' Ashleigh supplied, with a brief flick of her eyebrow. 'The same. As Alec always is.'

Bond nodded. He couldn't care less, but felt it was only polite to ask, and the English were renowned for their politeness. He sipped the coffee, the scalding liquid burning his mouth, but not caring.

The silence fell thickly between them, too many years had passed, too much had changed, and remorsefully, Bond thought back to the small girl who had idolised him. It had been impossible for him to do anything wrong in her eyes, and Bond had a sudden longing for those days. He was used to adoring women, and Ashleigh had adored him once. Now she was with him...

'Why?' he suddenly snapped.

'Why what?'

'Why did you.... You and... Him.' For once Bond couldn't find the words.

'Are you asking why I married Alec?' Ashleigh asked quietly.

'Yes.' It was blunt, but at last it was out in the open.

'Why do people usually get married, James?' Ashleigh said coldly. 'Why did you get married?'

He didn't answer, and after a respectable pause, Ashleigh turned, and walked away. He had the impression she had rolled her eyes at him.

Bond had been in some strange situations before, but somehow, the last twenty four hours had beaten them all. He found himself drinking yet more coffee, glaring at the deceptively calm Alec who stalked round the room like a submissive, but caged tiger.

'What I don't understand,' Bond broke the silence, 'is how they knew about the child.'

Alec and Ashleigh's eyes met. A guilty flush crept over Ashleigh's cheeks. 'We have our own theory on that,' she mumbled.

'Which is?' Bond asked.

M coughed softly. Bond's head jerked up. M forced the cough again as if clearing her throat. She steadfastly stared out of the window refusing to meet Bond's eyes again.

'We - we weren't exactly discreet when Natasha was born,' Ashleigh tentatively explained. 'It would have been easy to register her birth under an alias, Alec and I both have several, but we wanted our daughter to have her real name. It was agreed that if this happened, all evidence of her birth would be seized and secured by MI6.'

'Which it was,' M confirmed.

'Or so we thought,' Alec finally spoke, and his tone was flat.

'Are you saying that MI6 failed in its objective?' M snapped.

'How else do you explain this situation?' Alec argued.

'It could be a number of things,' M pointed out. 'It could have been surveillance – they may have observed Natasha here, and put two and two together. Or it could have been sheer damned luck – Ashleigh was the original target, before they decided your daughter was a far better option.'

'How interesting,' Bond interrupted, a tight little smile fixed on his face. 'If your daughter was taken because you were so desperate to have 'Trevelyan' plastered all over her birth certificate, then once again your arrogance has destroyed everything for you. Is there truly no limit to your monstrous ego... Alec?'

The name was as much of an insult as the rest of his speech. With murder clear on his face, Alec stood, and a strange glint of warmth appeared in his eyes.

'How easy it is for you to spit your pathetic little insults, James. Of course, at the end of the day, being a father is something you'd hardly understand. Even if one of your many conquests spawned your brat, you'd hardly be aware of it. If our entire purpose on this earth is to produce offspring, well then, surely we can add your lack of procreation to your long, long list of failures.'

'How about your failure to protect your wife and child? Where exactly were you when Ashleigh was being attacked?'

Involuntarily Ashleigh's hand flew to her forehead, and James knew she was thinking the same thing.

And so did Alec.

She couldn't hide it from him. 'Where were you?' she whispered.

'That's not important right now,' he said flatly, after a long pause.

'It is now.' There was a sudden chill in Ashleigh's voice. With a precise action she placed her long empty cup on the table, stood, and stalked towards him. 'Where the hell where you?'

'Don't let him put ideas in your head, Ash,' here Alec shot a vicious look at James, who calmly stared back. 'It's not necessary for you to know, so don't ask.'

'Too late, I have asked.' All her anger was beginning to come to the surface, she felt sick and tired of all the lies, the cover ups of the last few years, and the events of the past day.

'Ashleigh, this isn't the time or the place,' M interjected quietly.

'Yes, it is!' Ashleigh turned on the older woman. 'Where did you send him this time? What was so vitally important that it meant he wasn't here protecting his daughter?'

M blanched, the reaction sudden, and involuntarily. She struggled to find the words.

'M didn't send me anywhere.' Alec said with a note of finality.

'Fine.' Ashleigh glared at each of them in turn. 'I'm obviously out of the loop, but don't mind me, I was just lying bleeding of the floor. I don't need to know anything.'

She threw the door open, ready to storm out, but was stopped by an official looking forensic scientist, who had been just about to knock.

'We've found this,' he held out a plain white envelope. 'We thought you should see it first, sir.'

'Where was it?' M asked, getting to her feet.

'Underneath the mat in the main room.'

'Why did it take so long to find it?' M snapped.

'Unfortunately we had to wait until all the blood samples had been taken. We were only able to lift the mat just now. This was directly underneath.'

The envelope was stained in one corner, blood darkening to a rust colour on the stark whiteness of the paper. Ashleigh shivered, as she realised that that was her blood.

Instinctively she reached out and snatched it from the hand of the technician.

'Ashleigh!' M ordered, but it was too late, Ashleigh slid a finger under the edge, and tore it open.

She frowned, puzzled. 'What on earth?'

She was holding a single white feather in her hand. It was almost perfect, save for the smattering of blood that stained the tip.

Silently, Alec took the feather from her. He stared at it for a moment, and then, suddenly he crumpled it, before throwing it to the floor. He stalked from the room, the door slamming behind him.

'I – I don't understand,' Ashleigh stammered staring after Alec in a manner of confusion.

'No, you don't,' M murmured softly. 'But Alec does.'

'Alec?' Ashleigh turned, grabbing the door, a sudden feeling of dread coming over her.

Bond leapt to his feet, recognising the panic in his goddaughter. Something was very, very wrong.

In the distance, there was a sudden roar of an engine. 'Shit,' Ashleigh swore, 'That's the Mercedes.'

She was running, sprinting through the house, trying to get outside, she threw open the door, and ran onto the driveway.

'Alec, no!' she cried out.

It was too late. The sleek black car revved once, and then with a squeal of tires, headed straight for the gate.

'He'll kill himself,' Ashleigh whispered, horrified. 'The gates are reinforced.'

'Open them!' M howled, and the panicked agents, fought to flick the switch that would release the gates. They sprang open, and with a roar, and a single flash of the rear brake lights, the car slid neatly through the gap, and sped away.

Ashleigh stared blankly after it as it vanished into the distance.

In a fury, Bond turned on M. 'Why open the bloody gates? Why didn't you try to stop him?'

'Because there was no stopping him, James.'

'But he's gone!'

'God help him,' M murmured.

'God's not who he's working for,' Bond snarled angrily. 'You need to think further south.'

'That's enough, Bond.' M snapped. 'Instead of sniping at Alec, why don't you go and help your goddaughter. She needs you right now.'

But Ashleigh had already turned on her heel, and vanished inside.


	8. Chapter Seven

Thank you to all for the reviews. Much appreciated as usual. The Sim version of Alec and Ashleigh are very content at the moment, although most of their attention is being paid to baby David. I had hoped for a girl… but humph. I have no idea how to get them online, I do believe there is a function for this within the game, but I'm playing on a laptop that doesn't have internet access, so I'm stumped. If I find a way, you'll be the first to hear about it.

I love to hear what you think might be happening in the story, so stick your theories in a review if you like.

Updates have been slow for several reasons, the first being a sprained right wrist, and then a few days ago I learnt a valuable lesson. Never ever put your finger in boiling water, even if you are saving a teapot from smashing on the floor. Secondly, never ever take your finger out of the water, realise the teapot is still falling and then immediately put your finger back in. This is called stupidity. And it's very, very painful. However, the good news is the blistering will go down in a few weeks, and the teapot is still in one piece. And I'm learning to type without my index finger.

Pussicle - I owe you an email. Things are ok with me, just not online much. Still missing you. x And yep, am enjoying this a lot. How on earth did you guess sweetie??

* * *

When Natasha Trevelyan had woken up, she had found herself in a small room, sparsely, but comfortably furnished. She had a small bathroom that was through a door to her right, and at the same time, three times a day a tray of actually quite nice food was slid through the door.

She had no idea how long she had been there. She felt sleepy most of the time, and not quite…

Right.

She didn't feel right. Her childish mind struggled to comprehend the situation, but she couldn't understand it all.

She was scared, even more scared than that time when she had ran away from home, and had been lost in the dark, hearing the strange sounds of the night, and imagining all sort of monsters coming to get her.

Daddy had found her, hearing her frantic sobs and following the narrow cliff path until he had come across the shallow cave that had been her hiding place. For a terrible moment he had been so angry, angrier than Natasha had ever seen him, but then he had swept her into his arms, and kissed her hair, and cheeks, and crushed her in his embrace.

He had taken her home, and they had agreed to forget all about it.

Somehow she didn't think her daddy was coming to get her this time. Or her mother. Her mother had fallen to the floor, and Natasha had seen blood before, when she had fallen over, and grazed her knees, or skinned her elbows, but she had never seen that much blood before, not even after she had sliced her hand on the sharp blade of a kitchen knife.

Was her mother dead? Natasha didn't know. There was too much she didn't know. She sat quietly on the bed, chewing on her left thumbnail. It was exactly the same comforting gesture her mother used when thinking hard. She frowned, staring around the room. Everything was so dull, plain navy covers on the bed, a hard grey carpet on the floor, no pictures on the walls. There were no windows either. A clock told her it was four o clock, but she didn't know if that was night or day. She ate when food was given to her, and she slept when she was tired. Fresh clothes had been provided, but Natasha ignored them, preferring to wear the clothes she had been taken in. Her clothes. The t-shirt was getting grubby, but it and her trousers were hers. Not some stranger's clothes. There were still grains of sand caught in the hems of her trousers, and she would roll it between her fingers. It was sand from her beach, from her home. She would keep it safe.

She heard footsteps, and looked up. A frown flickered across her face, it was too early for the next batch of food. She was a naturally curious child, and this change to her routine intrigued her.

It also frightened her. As the door opened, she cringed back against the wall.

The man that entered did so quietly, and without fuss. Gently he closed the door, and stood quietly, watching the girl.

Natasha stared back.

He was like a bear, she decided. He was tall, but then all men were tall to a five year old child. He had broad shoulders, emphasised by the woollen jacket he wore, and he seemed very solid. He was bulky, and his stomach was rounded beneath the tight fitting sweater he wore. He seemed very old to her. He had grey in his hair, he must have been at least a hundred years old.

It was his face that caught her attention though. He had eyes that seemed to sparkle with life, and amusement, his nose was big, his hair neatly cut. It was his beard that made him bear like, thick and heavy on his chin and jaw, surrounding a smiling mouth.

He smiled under her close scrutiny, and she gasped.

She had never seen a tooth made of gold before. The idea was strange enough to her to make her forget her fright.

'What happened to your tooth?' she asked immediately.

The man grinned wider, and the tooth caught the light. 'One day, Natasha, I will tell you.'

Her eyes widened again. Eyes so like her father's, the man noted. The same icy green. 'You know my name,' she stammered.

'Of course, I do. I know a lot about you, Natasha.' He said the name again deliberately. 'Natasha Trevelyan.'

'What else do you know?' she asked, sticking out a stubborn jaw.

'I know that you're a very special little girl. Your mother's name is Ashleigh, your father's name is Alec. I know your father very well, although it was a long time ago. I've yet to have the honour of meeting your mother.'

She didn't like this, she decided, there was something very wrong with what was happening. 'I want to go home,' she announced in as confident a voice as her young self could manage. 'Now.'

The man laughed. 'I'm afraid that's impossible, Natasha.'

It was the answer she had been dreading. She could feel fear pricking at her again, and tears were threatening to well up in her eyes. Her daddy had always told her to be brave, and she knew that he would want her to be brave now. She wouldn't let this man, this bear man see her cry. Her chest hitched with the effort of holding back the sobs, but she refused to let them win.

Amused, Pierre Merkalov stared down at the small, five year old girl. Her jaw was stubbornly set, her hands screwed into fists as she fought for control. Five years old, and so determined, he thought with a sudden burst of pride. Alec had taught her well.

Carefully, he sat on the bed, not so close as to worry her, but close enough to give a sense of companionship. She eyed him warily, and then jumped as he placed a thick finger under her chin, tilting her face up so he could look at her.

There was little of Alec in her face, he decided eventually, none of his long, square jaw, no sign of the large dominating nose. Instead he saw a round face, the merest hint of slanted cheekbones, a button nose, and large, rounded eyes framed with thick lashes. Her skin was soft and peachy, albeit smeared with dirt, and tanned to a smooth gold. Her hair was a dark brown, thick and tangled around her face, falling to her shoulders. Must take more after her mother, he concluded, although no one could deny that the colour of her eyes was exactly the same as Alec's.

The speed was Alec's too; he thought a fraction of a second later as he jerked his hand back, small white teeth clashing together exactly where his finger had been just a moment ago. She snarled at him, and bared her teeth again. It was time to settle at a safe distance, and he did so, moving slightly away from the child.

'No biting,' he said idly. 'Didn't your father ever tell you that?'

Natasha stayed stubbornly silent, although she grimly remembered the horrible sensation of being made to bite a bar of soap after she had bitten her father's hand. It was a rare punishment for a rare act of disobedience, and it had ensured that there had been no more biting after that. Somehow though she didn't think her father would object to her biting this man, in fact, she thought he might actively encourage it.

'I wasn't lying earlier, you know,' Merkalov said mildly. 'When I said I knew your father. I did, I knew Alec Trevelyan for a very long time. Would you like to hear about him?'

Natasha stared at him, wary of a trick, but suddenly she nodded.

So Merkalov spoke. And Natasha listened.

* * *

Ashleigh Kain had been a good agent. Ashleigh Kain had listened to her superiors and obeyed orders. Ashleigh Kain had learnt the skills that had made her a good agent.

Just the once Ashleigh Kain had disobeyed orders.

And it had led to a sort of happiness she had never imagined.

That was the irony of the situation; she thought as she pulled open the door to a closet, things had been happy.

Why couldn't they have been left alone in peace?

The metal box was heavy, and securely fastened with a coded padlock. Ashleigh's fingers nimbly twisted the dials until the number she had used came up.

It was no accident that the number was 009.

Inside was a gun. It lay neatly dismantled, the sections ready to fit together to make it a seamless weapon, ready to be used against her enemies.

She didn't know who her enemies were. She tipped the neatly organised contents of the box onto the bed, making sure not to note where each individual component fell. That would spoil the test.

Her hand snatched at the strip of material, a velvet scarf neatly hung up in the closet, the narrow strip of material soft and smooth in her hands. She wrapped it round her head, tying it firmly until she was securely lost in its black depths. Blindfolded, her hands reached for the first part of the gun.

Instinct. Agents had to be taught to use it, had to learn how to reach into one's self and find that innate little skill that had been almost lost in the modern world. Gut instinct, some called it, others named it intuition. It was the primitive survival tool developed by our ancestors in a world of danger and predators.

Agents needed it. An uneasy feeling, a prickle at the base of the spine, a sudden cold sweat. All these symptoms had to be analysed, had to be confirmed as danger signs. Ashleigh could remember the countless sessions spent meditating, attempting to go within herself to find that lost attribute. She had found the sessions awkward, unable to relax enough. She didn't need to slow her breathing to discover her inner instincts. Because most of the time her instincts screamed at her.

They screamed now, but she refused to listen. She didn't want to hear what they were saying.

The pieces of the weapons found their way to her hands, slotting together like a deadly jigsaw puzzle. Her right hand reached out, for the final piece, the clip. She paused.

Her instincts told her she was wrong.

Her hand changed direction, pulled by invisible string to the left, and her fingers found the cool metal, gripped it, and slotted it firmly into gun.

She tore the blindfold from her eyes.

Her instincts never lied. They weren't lying now.

'You never forget how,' a soft voice spoke behind her.

She spun, gun ready in her hand, and pointed it straight at her godfather's head. 'No. You never forget.'

Bond paused, somewhat disconcerted by the loaded gun pointing straight at him. 'What do you know about white feathers?' he asked carefully.

Ashleigh paused. Every schoolchild in Britain knew the significance of a white feather. Those able men who had refused to sign up for the armed forces during World War One had been sent white feathers, sometimes by lovers, by friends, even by their own families. It was an accusation of cowardice. She knew that Bond was thinking along the same lines.

'A symbol of cowardice,' she murmured.

Bond nodded. 'Someone is accusing Alec of cowardice, of weakness. What I want to know is do you know who that person is?'

The gun never moved an inch; it remained steadily aimed at him. 'Why do you think I know?'

'You're his wife.'

'I'm as much in the dark as you are, James,' Ashleigh said dangerously, her tone warning Bond to drop the bitter subject.

'Then enlighten me to what you do know. Explain to me why your daughter is missing, why your husband has just abandoned you.'

A muscle flickered in her cheek. 'I don't know,' she answered through gritted teeth.

'I think you do,' as he spoke, he was edging towards her, hoping to ease his discomfort by disarming her. 'I think you know more than you're willing to say. Why bother to protect him, Ash, why?'

She didn't answer, her own suspicions ready to overwhelm her.

It was his moment. He snatched for her wrist, hoping to twist it, to make her drop the gun, but she realised what he was doing, and with reactions almost as good as his, she darted away.

'James,' she warned, but he ignored her, they circled each other determinedly.

She was quick, but he was quicker, and had the greater strength. He dove at her, snatching her into an awkward embrace, fighting to get her to release the gun. He clawed at her wrist, but she was fighting hard, until she managed to get her left arm free.

The blow to his head surprised him. It didn't hurt, but the fact Ashleigh had dealt it was enough to stun him. It gave Ashleigh the leverage she needed, and neatly tucking her foot behind his leg, she jerked his feet out from under him.

Bond fell back onto the soft bed, and once recovered, stared at Ashleigh. Her pale skin was flushed with angry blood, and there was a hardness in her eyes he had never seen before.

'Enough, James,' she snarled, and to prove her point her thumb levered back the safety.

'What do you know?' he asked again.

'I have my suspicions,' she said in a resigned voice. 'And right now, that's more than enough.'

'So what now?' he spat.

She smiled, and that smile was cold. 'Its time to call in a few favours, James. And I'm planning to start with you.'

'What favours?' he asked, narrowing his eyes.

'I highly doubt M will let me walk away from here,' she explained patiently. 'And that's exactly what I need to do. You're going to get me out of here.'

'Or you'll kill me?' James mocked.

'No,' she smiled sweetly, and trailed the gun lower, aiming it directly between his legs. 'But I'll certainly disarm your favourite weapon.'

He swallowed. He couldn't be sure how serious she actually was, but it was a risk he wasn't prepared to take.


	9. Chapter Eight

Thank you once more for all the reviews. Once more my life has been hectic in the last week, and I've managed to injure myself once more, this time a broken nose and whiplash following crashing my car after a tyre blew out. When I wrote Ashleigh's accident in the first story, I had no idea how upsetting or frightening it was, believe me, now I do. However, despite my car being totally destroyed, I'm back on the road, albeit cautiously. I'll never write another trivial car crash again!

I had one of my readers ask recently if David Kain was actually Ashleigh's father. After several moments of barely concealed astonishment, verging on being seriously 'squicked', I found out this person didn't mean that Alec might be her father, no, rather more sensibly they were thinking along the lines that James might be! Well, he's definitely not, but its made me think. I'm going to make an offer. If anyone wants to email me, or leave a review asking one question they have about the story, I'll answer it. Anything at all. Be it about the plot, the ending, the characters, or whatever, I'll answer it if I can. I'll reply in an email to you, so I'll need you address, but let me know how much you want revealed. No saying you want to know what happens at the end, but don't give any spoilers – just not possible I'm afraid! After all, who knows, the way I drive, the end might never get written!

Onto the next chapter. I know things are moving slowly, but I'm trying to disguise it under all the tension! Honest.

* * *

It had been nearly twelve hours since Alec had vanished in a cloud of dust and a squeal of tires. It was the early hours of the morning, the sky was still dark outside, and the moon was about to creep below the horizon, her pale glow waning as she slipped lower. Armed agents hovered near the gate, cold and tired, but alert and on duty.

M stood shrouded in a doorway, peering at Ashleigh's sleeping form. The young woman was plainly exhausted by the events of the past two days, and slept soundly, her dark hair splayed across the pillow. She seemed so small, lost in the vast emptiness of the bed.

M thought of her own husband. Steadily dependable, virtually unflappable, and completely nonplussed by the strangeness of his wife's chosen career, he had been her rock, her security for the last almost four decades. He was her sanity, the one thing in the world that kept her feet on the ground. If she lost Robert… well, she shuddered to think what would happen to her.

She had known Ashleigh since the moment of the girl's birth. Had seen her grow up, and mature into a sensible woman. She had approached the twenty one year old Ashleigh Kain, and made the offer. Join MI6, and follow in your father's footsteps. Perhaps she had been had been too fond of the girl. She had made allowances for her, overlooked incidents in her career that perhaps shouldn't have been overlooked. She had made sure the girl had gotten the assignments that had gotten her noticed, and had made sure her career had progressed quickly.

She had done the same with Bond and look where that had got her.

She covered her small smile quickly.

Let the girl rest in peace. She needed her energy. As M did, if she were to ever find Trevelyan.

And his whereabouts troubled her greatly.

* * *

Bond crept through the silent, dark house, and mentally cursed Ashleigh Kain and the day that she had been born.

If he had one weakness, it was women, and Ashleigh knew it. She could play him easily, read his weaknesses, and hit upon the one thing he couldn't stand.

A crying woman.

When holding a gun to his head had almost failed, she had let her big brown eyes well up with unshed tears, and with the combined threat to his most precious part of his anatomy, it had worked. Worked far too well.

The keys were in the garage, neatly stored in a small, metal cupboard. They would all be labelled. He just had to get her the right ones.

No, that wasn't exactly true, he frowned to himself. He had to get the keys, and then figure out how the hell to distract the guards long enough to get her out.

Or to find another exit. One that wasn't immediately obvious.

His eyes fell on a pile of discarded boards lying in the corner of the garage. They looked as if they had once formed part of an old gate, yes, he could make out larger pieces below. It made sense, the darkened wood showed its age, it was thick, and more importantly, it was strong.

It would also be the right height.

Suddenly Bond knew how to get Ashleigh out.

She owed him this time. One day he would have his own debt to call in from Ashleigh. He would make sure of it.

Sweat trickled down his spine as he heaved the wood out of the garage, hoping the dark night would give him enough cover to finish the task unseen.

* * *

Ashleigh's eyes opened in the darkness, as she listened to M's footsteps fall away. Silently she pulled the covers from her body, slid from the bed, and crouched by it, reaching beneath to pull a leather jacket from its hiding place.

The thick leather fitted snugly on her slim frame, the trousers were padded to protect her knees, the heavy boots muffled by the deep pile of the carpets. In her hand she held a shiny black helmet.

She paused by the door, listening once more. There was a guard posted at the other end of the corridor, but Ashleigh had lived in the house for over six years, and knew every creaking floorboard that would give her away, every shadow that would conceal her.

She slipped easily across the hall way, and through the narrow dark door. A few steps brought her down to the kitchen via the old servant's passage. A few more steps and she was in the garage.

The keys were bright and silver lying in a patch of moonlight. As she reached for them eagerly a hand snapped out and caught her by the wrist.

'Where will you go?' Bond hissed, dragging her into the shadows, his face unreadable in the dim light.

'I don't know,' she admitted, feeling her godfather's solid bulk behind her. He held her tightly, and she knew not to fight him.

'After him?'

'Yes.'

'Forget him,' he whispered cruelly in her ear.

'Never,' she hissed back.

'He's left you, Ashleigh, why bother chasing after a man who no longer wants you?'

She jerked away then, anger roaring once more to the surface. She knew his anger was poisoning his words, but still she couldn't believe he would utter those things to her. And not for the first time, either.

'I have my reasons, James. As you did when you pursued him half way round the world. And my reasons are far more important than yours were.'

'I was trying to save the world,' Bond snarled.

'Were you?' Ashleigh's eyes were almost black in the dim light. 'Or were you searching for revenge? Revenge against the one man who outwitted you. You couldn't bear the fact that he had bettered you, and so you chased him under the façade of heroism until you could exact your own revenge. He told me your last words to him, James, the last words he thought he would ever hear.'

Bond's hand tightened on her wrist, all his anger seemed to be concentrated in his hand, he was hurting her, but she refused to show it.

'_For England, James?' Alec asked, from his precarious position, suspended thousands of feet above the crater of the satellite dish, held aloft only by Bond's strength and Bond's hands wrapped around his ankle. Blood poured from various gashes on his face, his blood hair was dishevelled and streaked with mechanical oil, and yet, still, somehow, the bastard managed to be defiant. His green eyes blazed with something close to madness as he taunted his former friend, sneering at him, mocking him. _

'_No,' Bond replied, his voice dull and dead, realising what he had to do, realising that this was indeed the end, and that he was about to kill the person he had once called his closest friend. They had trained together, worked together, almost mirror images of success, both walking the fine line between loyalty and betrayal. Alec had crossed the line, while Bond had remained staunchly behind it. There were consequences to such actions, and now, finally they had caught up with the actions of the man now known as Janus. _

'_For me.'_

_He had let go._

_Alec had fallen, fallen from grace, and now fallen to his death._

That had been the end of their rivalry, or so Bond had thought.

'You don't deny it then?' Ashleigh asked coldly.

'Why should I?' Bond answered, his mind still lost in Cuba on a warm Caribbean afternoon.

'You've learnt nothing, James, not in all your time with MI6. And you never will. The world is bigger than James Bond 007, and everyone realises it but you. You're almost past it; you're an ageing playboy with nothing to show for years of service. You're becoming a parody of yourself.'

She was almost spitting the words at him, her hands twisted into claws, trying to fight her way free from him, but still he held her.

'And what do you have, Ashleigh?'

Her eyes blazed with fire, and for a moment he thought she would strike him.

'Nothing,' he scoffed scornfully. 'Your husband has vanished, your daughter is missing. The two must be connected, and you're too blinded by his charms to realise it.'

'He wouldn't do that! He wouldn't hurt Natasha… or me…' she added quickly at the end.

'Wouldn't he?' Bond lifted an eyebrow, 'Perhaps you should open your eyes, Ashleigh, and see who your husband really is. Janus, a man with two faces.'

She turned so quickly she nearly dragged him off balance.

'At least you can see both of Alec's,' she growled, 'he doesn't have to disguise them beneath his ageing charms.'

Below the belt, he thought darkly, and he pulled her close once more so he could whisper cruelly in her ear. 'Don't think your marriage certificate will protect you, Ashleigh, if he decides to kill you, you're a dead woman.'

'Not if I…' she began, but immediately she shut up.

She knows, James thought with a tinge of alarm, she knows what he's capable of. He stared at her, and realised that the woman that stood before him was not the same girl he had known as a child, as a young woman on the brink of a promising MI6 career. She's changed, he thought, she's… darker.

He couldn't describe it any other way. Her eyes were black in this dim light, there were dark shadows underneath her eyes, her clothes created the impression of a sleek, strong black silhouette. James had faced women like this before, women they called black widows, women who used their attractive looks to lure, and then would kill.

Women like Xenia Onatopp. Women with no light in their eyes, no light in their souls. They were extinguished flames, dark and deadly.

There had always been a luminescence to Ashleigh, no matter what life had thrown at her, she had always fought and survived. James had walked the line between the light and the dark before, but Ashleigh had never come close before. Before she had met Alec.

'James…' she gasped, trying to pull away, 'James! You're hurting me!'

He blinked, and it was just Ashleigh once more, his frightened goddaughter, her brown eyes filled with pain and worry. Her warm brown eyes. He pulled her close, once more, but this time it was an embrace.

'Take care,' he whispered into her ear, brushing his lips against her temple, 'You know that M will kill you for this.'

'I've done worse,' she smiled weakly.

'I know you have.'

She nodded briefly, slipping the helmet over her dark hair, her fingers fumbling with the chin strap.

'Good luck,' he held his hand out formally.

He thought he saw another smile the instant before the visor snapped down. The voice was muffled, but the dry humour was there. 'The best of British, of course.'

She slipped into the shadows. Bond did the same, heading away from her.

He hoped it wouldn't be the last time they would speak.

* * *

M woke from a hazy sleep, at some point she had dozed off on one of the soft sofas. Lulled by the buttery feel of leather, and the sound of the gently lapping sea outside, she had let her defences down and slipped into a sleep where she floated somewhere between dreams and awareness.

Now she woke, and her senses were alert.

'Bond?' she asked.

'Sorry to wake you, sir.'

'No, you're not, so don't bother pretending.' M felt the fogginess of sleep cloud her mind. She hated waking after too little sleep; it made her feel slow, and her senses seemed dull. It also made her unbearably grumpy.

'Of course, sir.'

'You're very affable this morning, Bond.'

'Am I?'

'Yes. And it makes me damned suspicious.'

'Paranoid, sir?'

M eyed Bond beadily as she brushed her short hair back into place. 'While you work for me, Bond, paranoia is usually the safest option.'

Leaving her smirking 00 agent behind, M stepped outside for some fresh air. Dawn was just breaking and the agents that were posted outside snapped smartly to attention as M appeared. She resisted the urge to snap 'At ease, soldiers'.

'How's Ashleigh?' M asked, as Bond followed her out.

'Asleep, I presume,' Bond stared fixedly into the distance.

'I know this situation has been difficult for you, Bond,' M began, 'but you must understand why I decided not to inform you.'

Stiffly, Bond merely inclined his head.

'Sir!' An agent shouted in alarm.

M's head snapped up sharply. 'Yes?'

She didn't need the explanation. She felt a vague sense of déjà vu as she heard the roar of an engine, saw the motorbike rounded the side of the house.

'Going to open the gates?' Bond raised an eyebrow.

'Stop them!' M snapped, ignoring the snide comment.

But the bike wasn't heading for the main gate. The rider increased the speed, and then M saw it. The gate had been used as a make shift ramp, the bike powered up, and suddenly, the rider was airborne, the sleek black machine framed against the sky, and with a solid thump, landed on the other side.

It rode straight for a moment, then the bike swerved, tilted, and crashed to the ground. For a moment the rider lay stunned underneath the bike, but then they were on their feet, heaving the bike up, kick starting, and suddenly it was gone.

'Where the bloody hell did she learn to do that?' M fumed, her face flushed with angry colour.

Bond leant in close to her. There was a barely restrained urge to gloat dancing across his face as he spoke.

'Basic training, second year.'


	10. Chapter Nine

Thank you for all the concern over my accident, I'm well on the mend now, and am back to work and everything. I even have a new car, which is nice.

* * *

The airport hanger loomed over the runway like a huge black monstrosity, its arched back the only discernible landmark in what seemed like a hundred miles. The small plane coasted to a stop, its propellers decelerating to visibility. Two figures descended the tiny steps, the first trying to resist the urge to salute the second.

The second figure sensed the urge. He glowered at the man, his face dark, his scars deliberately displayed. 'You don't salute me,' he growled, 'You obey me.'

The feeling of power that flooded through his veins was seductive.

The pleasure increased as he saw the fear and obedience on the man's face.

* * *

For one glorious moment Ashleigh felt like she was flying. She could feel the bike beneath her, but under that there was nothing but the air beneath her and the wind rushing past her helmet.

The she and the bike came crashing down to earth. There was yet another glorious moment of self satisfaction as the bike, and she, stayed upright.

It had been a risk but she had done it. After years of what felt like suspended animation, lost in codes, numbers, secret information that only she had privy to, she was once more doing something physical. Cautiously she twisted the accelerator.

Too early. The front wheel skidded, and then she felt the bike begin to slip away. The bike went horizontal, she was sliding underneath, the tyres spinning desperately as they tried to grip thin air.

Finally momentum and inertia dragged them to a halt. Ashleigh lay stunned underneath the hot metal, feeling the bruises already beginning to form. Gingerly she flexed her leg, and realised she was still alive. She could hear the cries of outrage begin in the distance, and fearing shots were about to be fired, she heaved herself and the bike upright. She kicked frantically, heard the engine roar once more into life, and the surge of power.

This was her bike. She had discovered the joys of the mountain roads, spent hours exploring them on the sleek black machine. The speed was a thrill, and she felt that same thrill now. No one could catch her now.

She was on her way.

The problem was, she didn't know where. She didn't even know where to begin.

She'd think about that later. The main thing now was to just get away.

* * *

'Are the checkpoints still in place?' M demanded, her fingers stabbing at the spread out map of the area.

'We removed them last night, sir,' the agent replied apologetically. He hesitated before saying his next words, unsure whether he would still have a job once they were said. 'On your orders, sir.'

M would have liked to have exclaimed something particularly vicious, but she was determined to keep her composure, despite the fact she was very close to losing it. Her anger was welling beneath the surface, fury was building up inside her, she felt like the human equivalent of Mt. Etna.

'The following order is to be relayed back to England immediately, and with immediate effect,' she said quietly, but firmly. 'We have a renegade agent. They are to be located and restrained by any means possible.'

Bond watched stonily. He could see the anger on M's face. She was right though, he understood that.

'And Ashleigh?' he asked. 'What are you going to do about her?'

M looked up at him with ice in her eyes. 'The order is for Ashleigh.'

The words chilled Bond to the bone. 'You're abandoning her?' Bond hissed.

'No, Bond,' M said in a matter of fact tone, coolly gathering together the map. 'I'm merely washing my hands of her.'

Bond knew that she was serious. When M decided an agent was no longer worth protecting, that agent was on their own. Bond had several scars and the memories of several months in a Korean torture camp to prove it. M had been just as unapologetic about that incident as she was now.

'It wouldn't be the first time you have,' Bond said flatly.

M acknowledged the insult with a tilt of her chin. 'We're returning to London immediately, Bond. I suggest you pack. And in future; keep your opinions to yourself, James. When I want to know what you think, I'll tell you.'

* * *

Inside the aircraft hanger there was nothing. No aircraft waited for their next flight, no equipment stood ready, waiting for use. The place was deserted, empty, and this vast emptiness was filled with silence. He could hear nothing but the thud of his boots on the bare concrete, the low inhale and exhale of his breathing. He coughed, his throat dry after the pressurised air of the flight, and the sound seemed to echo loudly into the metallic eaves.

He glanced around, but there was no welcome committee waiting with open arms for him. There was nothing and there was no one. A muscle ticked in his cheek, as a sense of resentment grew. He could see no reason why he had been brought here, why this place was so important.

'Ah, the prodigal son returns.' A thick voice shattered the silence. Alec whirled around, his nerves immediately set on edge. He saw who spoke.

'I'm no son of yours,' he said stiffly.

'Always on the defensive, Alec,' there was a mocking edge to the voice, 'Its only a figure of speech.'

Alec stared at the man who now stepped from the shadows. It was a man he hadn't seen for many years, and the reunion was not a welcome one. He remained steadfastly silent, taking in how the man had aged over the years. There was more grey in the bear like pelt than brown now, the strong bulk had thickened, threatening to run to fat, but Alec didn't doubt that the bear like strength would still be there. Small wire rimglasses settled across the once broken nose, emphasising rather than concealing the small blue eyes.

From the moment he had heard Natasha had been taken, Alec had tried desperately to work out who might have taken her. Only once had this man's face flickered into his mind, and had immediately been dismissed. It had been too long, this man belonged to the past, but it seemed he now had utter control over Alec's future.

Alec suddenly felt very afraid for his daughter.

'You've returned at last,' Pierre Merkalov smiled, his heavily accented voice gruff with emotion. He held his arms out wide to the younger man, offering a bear like embrace.

Alec ignored the gesture. 'I was summoned.'

'Oh yes,' Merkalov chuckled. 'The feather. You must excuse my little joke.'

'Some joke,' Alec growled. 'My daughter is missing and you leave a white feather hidden in my home. Forgive me if I fail to grasp the humour of the situation.'

The humour was still there on the older man's face, but Alec recognised the cold fury in the pale blue eyes. 'My dear boy, I needed to assure your arrival, the feather was merely…'

'A joke!' Alec interrupted. 'I understand the logistics, and believe me, I certainly understand the implications. It's an old trick yours, and this time, the joke has worn thin. I want to know what you have done with my daughter!'

'Done with her?' Merkalov's jovial smile broke. 'I've yet to do anything with her. However, if I do not receive your absolute cooperation, that situation could very rapidly change.'

'You do have her then?' Alec grasped at the throw away comment, struggling to find fact in the familiar rhetoric.

Merkalov stared at him as if he were insane. 'Of course we have her. I see no reason to deny it, Alec.' He seemed like a teacher patiently explaining a simple concept to a particularly stubborn pupil. 'You were supposed to realise I had Natasha. That's why I sent you the feather. I knew you'd know it was me, but next time I'll leave a business card if that will make matters simpler for you.'

'There won't be a next time,' Alec felt his temper rising beyond the boundaries of his control. This monster from his past had his daughter, and was flaunting it. His entire body tensed as adrenaline surged through it in preparation for an attack.

'Enough.' Merkalov ordered, all humour, all pleasantries gone from his tone, suddenly this was a man totally in control.

Alec had heard that tone too many times before, and in an utter pavlovian reaction, Alec stopped. His hands dropped, the fight left his body, he stared sullenly at the floor; the absolute essence of reluctant obedience. It had happened before he had even realised it, and his green eyes widened in shock.

Merkalov laughed, a harsh sound in the metallic silence. 'All the power in the world, Alec, you could have had it all. But you'll always obey me.' He stretched out a hand, brushing it almost lovingly against the unscarred side of Alec's face. 'All because I'm the father you never had. You'll understand it now, Alec, imagine my surprise when I discovered you had a child, but you know now, you know what its like to love your child, to want to protect them, to love them and to be loved in return. You're a father, and in my own way, so am I. I'm doing this for you, Alec, and you'll understand that one day.'

Alec knew then he was beaten. He slumped, listening as Pierre Merkalov outlined what he wanted Alec to do. And Alec knew that on pain of his daughter's life, he couldn't refuse.

* * *

The pale young man watched as the woman walked through the airport's departures hall. She seemed unsure, glancing up at the electronic screens, scrutinising, as if trying to decide where to head. She stood out like a sore thumb in the busy crowds, all knowing exactly where they were going and why.

She glanced round, her dark eyes taking in everything, almost falling onto his hiding place. He sucked in his breath and pressed himself closer to the wall. After a few moments, he peeped around the corner, and relaxed. She hadn't seen him. Instead she had headed down a small walkway to the left of the hall. Glancing around one last time, he followed.

Why had she come down here? He wondered moments later as he found himself in a deserted hallway, with what seemed like a store cupboard at one end. The overhead lights flickered, this obviously wasn't an area for passengers.

He sensed the trap a moment too late.

A hand snaked out, and grabbed him, dragging him off balance and round a corner. A second hand fumbled beneath his jacket, finding the concealed weapon there.

That weapon was now being pressed against his temple.

'Don't even think about screaming,' the woman hissed into his ear, her voice low, and definitely English. 'Because I definitely won't think twice about putting a bullet into your head.'

He managed to nod.

'Good boy,' she seemed to be smiling. 'Now, I'm going to ask you one question, and you're going to answer it. Just one question, you can do that can't you?'

'Yes,' he mumbled.

'Where is he?'

He knew who she meant. And the gun pressed harder into his head.

'One,' the woman said, 'two…'

'Paris.' The word was spat reluctantly.

'Thank you. That wasn't too hard now, was it?'

He never had the chance to reply. The butt of the gun crashed against the side of his head, and he slumped into unconsciousness.

Ashleigh looked down at the crumpled figure at her feet. He couldn't be more than twenty, she decided. He'd wake up in a little while, with a bit of a headache, but better that than dead. She examined the gun, fitted with a silencer, and decided it would be more trouble than it was worth trying to smuggle it onto the plane. She wiped it down with the edge of her t-shirt, and threw it on top of the boy.

She walked away without a second glance. She had a ticket to buy and a plane to catch. She smiled; it had been many years since she had been to France.

* * *

Back at MI6 headquarters, M's order had been received. One senior agent read it coolly, put the document down and carried on working. A moment later he stopped, picked up the paper, and read it a second time.

A flicker of fear lodged somewhere deep within his stomach.

Common sense told him not to get involved. Yet somehow, when it came to this particular young woman, common sense went right out of the window.

M's callousness and ruthlessness towards her agents was known throughout the organisation, yet it was not always approved of. This order was yet another prime example of this.

When he returned to his desk moments later, all thoughts of his previous assignment had vanished, instead he busied himself with all the passenger lists of all flights within Europe that had left within the last twelve hours. It was a daunting task, but he was determined.

Determined to find her. Before it was too late. He had a feeling she would need all the help she could get.


	11. Chapter Ten

Apologies, apologies, a thousand apologies! Very slow update, I know, in fact this was only written last night! I have no time to myself, working two jobs at the moment, but at least I haven't hurt myself recently!

Chapter 11 is being worked on as we speak, I'm finding it difficult trying to bring all the threads together without revealing too much, hence lots of unnamed characters – they will be revealed and soon, just not yet. Don't want to spoil any surprises!

Onto Chapter 10

* * *

Since his return to England, Bond had been feeling ever more impotent. There was a sense that his increasing work load was linked to M's desire to keep him busy and well and truly out of trouble. There were rumours that Bond was lined up for a recon mission to Columbia. Perhaps M was hoping that the trigger happy drug barons and notorious bandits would keep him occupied enough to prevent him from chasing after his goddaughter and her errant husband.

He sighed to himself. He didn't exactly know why he had let himself be drawn into this, and he was beginning to consider that M was right, that perhaps they would be better washing their hands of the Trevelyans altogether. Let them find their own daughter, let them find each other, and if they wanted to kill each other in the process, let them. Ashleigh had always been far too stubborn for her own good, and the world had proved itself to be a far simpler place without Alec's presence in it.

Yet Bond knew M had learnt her lesson the hard way. Elektra King's kidnapping had led to a chain of events that had ended in blood and violence, and very nearly all their deaths. M had been shaken by the incident, she had come closer to the front line than she had thought possible, for once not protected by hundreds of heavily armed guards, but having to rely on her own courage to see her through her days of captivity. Elektra had had her own defence.

Stockholm Syndrome.

The psychological phenomena that led to captives sympathising, empathising, even to the prisoner falling in love with those that had taken their freedom. Elektra King had been an impressionable young woman, frightened, but intrigued by the power her captors had, particularly the cruel Reynard. Her love for him, and her belief that her father had abandoned her had led to her desire to change the world, starting with her father's assassination.

Bond had come close to falling in love with her, his desire for the slim, dark eyed, exotic woman combined with the desperate urge to protect her from all that she feared. By the time he had realised the truth, it had been almost too late.

Elektra King was dead now. Dead for more years than Bond wished to remember. Bond forced the thought of her away, and tried not to think of how so small a child as Natasha Trevelyan was coping with such a trauma.

He knew why he couldn't walk away from the situation. He knew he should, should refuse to let himself be played for a fool, but he couldn't.

The graveyard was in a quiet part of London, tucked near the borough of Islington. While the rest of London sweltered in the summer temperatures, the cool shade of the leafy trees brought sweet relief to Bond as he meandered along the narrow gravelled paths, heading for the far eastern corner. The pale green oak leaves left a dappled effect over the twin headstones, the once white stone now grey with age, and streaked with green mould.

The lettering was still clear though, and as he stared at the dates, Bond wondered how two decades had managed to pass since he had first stood in this spot to pay his final respects to Emma Kain. Five years later he had returned, that time to grieve for David.

'_Emma has cancer.'_

He could still remember the words spilling from his friend's mouth, and the absolute silence that had followed afterwards. He had struggled to fill that emptiness, trying to find words that would comfort, words that would draw the shocked look from David's face, but none had come, and to his shame, he had merely nodded. There had been no escape from the difficult conversation, as they had been locked up in a small dank cell somewhere in Russia. A week later they would be free after a daring overpowering of several guards, but until then they were stuck there, and Bond had no choice but to listen.

David, the words finally said, had been unable to stop them from flowing.

'_They're not sure if they've caught it early enough or not. If they have there may be a chance… but if not…'_

David's voice had caught, and to Bond's immense alarm, he had seen tears swim in those brown eyes. Ineffectually he had attempted to provide comfort by patting David on the shoulder, but he didn't think it had made any difference.

Emma had died six months later. The cancer had ravaged her petite body, her small frame eaten away by the disease until her bone structure had been painfully clear beneath paper thin skin. Quietly, with little fuss, she had slipped away in the early hours of a winter morning. The frost had been thick under the mourners' feet when they had buried her days later. The trees that on this day provided welcome shade, had on the day of her funeral shed faded leaves like rusty tears. David had stumbled through the service, his mouth forming words automatically, and without thinking, politely thanking the congregation for their attendance, his eyes dry, and hollowed out by grief. His hand had gripped his daughter's in an almost painful clasp, as if he thought that if he let her go, he would lose her too.

Only as the small white coffin, so small it didn't seem possible that it could hold the body of the vibrant woman he had married, had been lowered had his composure had slipped, his despair had overcome him, his entire body had slumped, his six foot bulk threatening to crash to the ground. James had stepped forward, catching him, and holding him upright as the final words had been spoken over the grave.

Ashleigh had been eight years old, wrapped against the cold in a thick, heavy navy wool coat. At some point that morning a well meaning relative had wrapped a bright red scarf around her neck, as if the vivid cheery colour could somehow keep her tears at bay. Everyone noticed how the red of the scarf matched the colour of her eyes, she had exhausted herself crying since her mother's death, but at the funeral, not one tear fell.

Five years later the same pride had been in evidence as she had watched as her father's coffin had been lowered into the plot beside her mother's. She was older then, thirteen, and beginning to leave her childish looks behind. Her thick dark hair had been scraped back into a tight French plait, and Bond had thought at the time how unbecoming it was on her, forcing a sense of adulthood upon her that she wasn't yet ready for. It had been only later that he had realised that that was exactly the effect she had been aiming for, as if realising she had to grow up now that she was alone in the world. Katherine Montrose had stood stiffly beside her granddaughter, now officially in her care, one hand reassuringly upon her shoulder, holding back her own grief for her son in law, reflecting bitterly on the fates that had decreed that such a happy couple should be taken from the world so soon. M had stood the other side of Ashleigh, a shadowy figure in the young girl's life, known only as a close family friend. Bond had caught M's steely blue gaze and flushed, knowing the woman could sense the relief emanating from Bond that he would not be solely responsible for this girl's upbringing.

It had been a difficult time for Bond, he had lost two friends in short succession, and MI6 had lost two of their best agents. 006 and 009 had died, and 007 had been left behind, bewildered and more aware of his own mortality than ever.

The same awareness crept over him as he stood quietly in the graveyard, feeling the burning sun beating down up him. He had stripped off his suit jacket, and folded it carelessly over his arm in a manner that would no doubt pain his Jermyn Street tailor, and now he could feel the first prickles of sweat beginning to catch at the thin, yet expensive cotton of his shirt.

Still he stood there, lost in thoughts of the past. He had sworn at Ashleigh's christening to protect David and Emma's daughter, and he was wondering when he had failed in that duty.

He supposed the moment he had let Alec Trevelyan touch her.

If he had been sensible, he should have put a bullet in Janus's head as soon as he had heard that the man was alive again.

What if Ashleigh had never met Alec? What if she had never been chosen to accompany him on that particular mission? What if she had never joined MI6? What if Alec had never defected? What if David had never died?

There were too many 'what ifs?'. Yet somehow Bond felt that it all came back to David. David could have persuaded Alec not to defect. David should never have had a family, not in the line of work he pursued, and then Ashleigh would never have wanted to follow in his footsteps and she would never have had a child with Alec Trevelyan, and that child would never have been kidnapped, and Bond wouldn't be booked in on the next flight to Colombia.

His fists clenched at his sides as he felt the helplessness swamp over him once more. There were no pithy comebacks for this situation, no arrogant smirks, and none of the gadgets that Q provided could ever bring about a resolution.

There was no point in blaming the dead, he realised with a heavy sigh. The dead were cold empty shells, brought only to life by the memories of those left behind. There had been too much time spent on reflecting if David's life could ever have been saved, or if he could have prevented Alec's defection if he had known about it.

The footfall was so faint that for a brief moment, he wasn't even sure he heard it, but his body reacted quicker than his tired, grief stricken mind. His backhand would have disarmed any weapon carried by his attacker, a second later, he twisted hard, dragging the person towards him, next moment they were off balance, and Bond threw them to the ground, Walther PPK in hand.

'Peace!' A low accented voice begged frantically, 'Please, peace…'

Bond had had many beautiful women at his feet before, but the woman who lay sprawled in the grass was exceptional enough to make even Bond take a second look.

'Peace,' she murmured again, raising her hands in mock surrender. A smile began to curl around her full pink lips, revealing a dimple in her cheek, her dark curls fell tousled over her face, half shielding the bright hazel eyes that glinted mischievously up at him now she realised he meant her no harm.

Bond, although distracted by her startling good looks did not immediately sheathe his weapon. He kept it loosely in one hand, forming his own handsome features into the dark glare that had both intimidated and thrilled countless other women. 'Do you often lurk in graveyards, Agent Van Dien?' The name came to his lips instantly, the soft honeyed voice had haunted his thoughts since their last conversation, a conversation he could remember every last syllable of.

'Only when tracking down strange men, 007,' the lips curled further into a broad, warm smile.

Finally Bond tucked the weapon away, and offered her his hand in an almost gentlemanly gesture. 'Wouldn't it have been easier to find me through official channels?'

Her pretty features darkened. 'Perhaps, 007, but if what I needed to talk to you about wasn't strictly _official_, then perhaps I had to find alternative means.'

'So how did you find me?'

She smirked, a gesture that he usually found irritating, but on her, it showed staggering confidence. 'A good agent never reveals her sources, Bond.'

He raised an eyebrow. 'Not 007?'

'Jasmin Van Dien,' she said, throwing her glossy curls back over her silk covered shoulder, and extending her hand. 'Codenames are so damned impersonal, and I have a feeling we're going to be spending far too much time together to remain impersonal.'

White teeth flashed in the sunlight, and Bond felt a dangerous flicker of attraction for this confident woman. 'Are we indeed?' he said, taking her hand.

'I can help you,' she said softly, 'I want to help you.'

And I want to let you, Bond thought suddenly, his gaze lingering on the subtle line of her curves under her suit. 'What do you know?' he growled.

'Enough,' she said, and he knew she was serious.

True to her word, Jasmin did know enough. The list of KGB agents that he had requested of her had proved disturbingly dead ended, not one name had rung a bell, except perhaps as the elusive men that had gotten away from Bond's grasp during the Cold War.

Except one.

'Pierre Merkalov?' Jasmin's thick, neatly groomed brows had knitted together in confusion.

'You've heard of him?' Bond has asked.

'Not much,' she had shrugged, 'He fell off the radar sometime ago, it was never proved that he had ever committed any crime, or had done anything that had warranted our interest in him.'

'Except being a high ranking member of the KGB.'

'There was that,' Jasmin had forced a smile.

'Pierre Merkalov,' Bond began, 'Ex military, ex KGB. Mother was French, father Russian, raised in Moscow and Toulouse. Joined the Russian army at an early age, promoted rapidly through the ranks. At some point, he was recruited into the KGB. He obtained a nickname, relating to his ruthlessness mainly, _Le Loup_.'

'The Wolf,' Jasmin had translated. 'But there has never been any proof of his actions.'

'Perhaps not, but it wasn't through a lack of trying on our behalf.'

'So why was he called _Le Loup_?'

Bond had frowned. 'He was the leader of a small, highly trained group of men, a pack so to speak, with Merkalov as the alpha male.'

'But surely the KGB wouldn't have tolerated such a group?'

'They didn't. Merkalov 'disappeared' underground, the KGB were very keen to find him, and dispose of him permanently. As I remember, so were we.'

'So he's dangerous?'

'Extremely. If he is involved, then this situation is far worse than we first thought.'

That conversation had taken place a mere twenty four hours ago, and Bond marvelled at how time truly did fly when you were having fun. To his surprise he had found himself inviting Jasmin back to his flat, the only place he could think of where they could have some privacy. The situation was delicate enough without having several MI6 agents trying desperately to overhear what Bond was saying to the 'latest bit of fluff' on his arm.

They had talked long into the night, trying desperately to find a solution to the problem, and all the while Bond had found himself fighting an increasing attraction to the young woman he was working with.

He had discovered she was thirty-two years old, and South African. She had moved to London as a teenager, and had found herself at MI6 in a lowly administrative position, but had proved to be a valuable asset to the organisation, working her way through the ranks until she came to where she was now, working directly for a senior high ranking figure. Her time in the field had been limited, but a useful experience, and she had thought that perhaps she might take the plunge soon, and make the move to field agent permanently.

Bond had found himself listening to these details with an interest he didn't usually have in other people's backgrounds. Her South African heritage explained the accent to her voice, and her olive skin, and made her strangely exotic amongst the pale, fair women that graced the offices of MI6.

As the night had crept on, Bond had realised he was watching the shapes her lips formed more than he was listening to the words she said, and admiring the way her lustrous curls fell to her shoulders in a manner that seemed at once dishevelled, and yet groomed. He wanted to take a lock between his fingers and see if it was as soft as it seemed.

And she knew it.

* * *

He couldn't remember who had kissed whom first, but as he lay in the cool cotton sheets of his bed, and admired the contrast between her tanned skin, and the pale sheet, one hand running down the curve of her him, he was bloody glad it had happened.

There was only one thing that could spoil this moment, and that was the phone ringing shrilly on the bedside table.

'Yes?' he snapped viciously into the cordless receiver.

'Napping on the job, 007?' a smooth, deep male voice asked.

_Hardly_, Bond thought, glancing at the naked form of the sleeping woman next to him. He decided to ignore the comment. 'A personal call, I am privileged.'

'Yes, you damned are well,' the voice snarled. 'I thought you should know, she's taunting you.'

Jasmin? Bond thought, with a confused glance over his shoulder, the sleeping woman had barely moved even when the phone had rang. 'What?' he asked, rubbing one hand over his tired eyes.

'Your goddaughter,' the man on the other end of the phone line said with exaggerated patience. 'She flew into Paris yesterday afternoon.'

'How do you know this?' Bond sat up hurriedly in bed.

'I checked the passenger lists.'

'So did we,' Bond snarled scornfully. 'She hasn't used any of her known aliases, its quite simple she doesn't want to be found.'

'If she doesn't want to be found, then why did she leave such a huge clue for us?'

'What clue?' Bond demanded.

'James?' Jasmin stirred, and then turned over.

'Who's that?' the man snapped.

'Does it matter?'

'Not at all. Your goddaughter is missing, and you're evidently enjoying yourself. I just thought you should know that a Cecile Montrose flew into Charles De Gaulle airport yesterday afternoon.'

Bond remained silent.

'It's up to you what you do next, but I know what I'm going to do.'

'And what exactly is that?'

But the caller had already hung up and Bond found himself faced with the humiliating continuous beep of a dial tone. He threw the phone down.

'Who was that?'

Someone who usually wasn't so bloody hostile, Bond thought, someone who he usually considered a friend. 'A friend. I think.'

'You think?'

Bond shook his head. 'She used Montrose as an alias. Montrose.'

Jasmin merely nodded. Bond may not have been making sense at that moment in time, but she wasn't about to argue.

'Tell me,' he murmured, his mood changing in a blink of an eye. His firm hand traced the curve of her shoulder, stroking, teasing. 'Have you ever been to Paris?'


	12. Chapter Eleven

She was dead.

Panic rose within him, his breath caught painfully in his lungs, he swayed, and he threw out one leather gloved hand to grip the back of the nearest chair, steadying himself.

* * *

It had been easy to get into Suite 124, especially as the concierge was an active member of the French secret service. He had barely blinked an eyelid as the man had explained who he was, and why he had wanted access to Cecile Montreux's hotel room.

Not the anglicised Montrose but Montreux, the traditional French surname. A neat little twist, but appropriate, the man had decided as he had waited patiently for the elevator to ascend. Mademoiselle Montreux. Or as he knew her; Ashleigh Kain. The concierge had handed over the passkey with little resistance, strange men demanding to be let into equally strange women's hotel rooms barely scratched the surface of what he had seen in seventeen years of active service. He certainly wasn't going to argue with someone who seriously outranked him, even if it was in a foreign service.

Inside the room it was dark. A left on television was the only source of illumination in the room, and he used the bright, concentrated light to look round.

He saw the minor details first, the abandoned, opened suitcase, the mass of clothes thrown onto every surface, some still with the labels attached. In the white marbled bathroom, he was puzzled by the small dark hairs dusting the sink, reminiscent of his own sink after he had shaved, but these hairs weren't the short bristly stubble of a man, but rather longer, and soft. Picking up a small clear jar, he peered inside it, seeing the two small plastic baskets holding the thin plastic lenses suspended in solution. Strange, he thought to himself, Ashleigh hadn't worn contact lenses when he had known her. Agents were expected to have pretty much perfect eyesight, and if they didn't, then the only option was laser corrective surgery. Nothing less would do. He frowned, puzzled, and put the jar down. He headed back into the bedroom.

It was then he had seen her. She had been lying so still that he had merely glanced over her, not seeing her for shadows.

She was face down, one arm flung carelessly above her head. She wasn't moving.

She was dead, was his instantaneous thought. He swayed, one leather gloved hand gripping the back of the nearest chair to catch himself. Someone had gotten here first, removed whatever threat she had posed. He felt a cry form deep within him, and forced it back with deep breaths.

He had to think. Had to figure out what had happened. But all that came too him was the accusation that swam before his eyes. He had been too late. If only he had been here earlier…

He stretched out a hand, willing himself to turn her still form over, praying her eyes would be shut so he wouldn't have to stare into those cold brown depths. She would be cold to touch, he knew that, and he felt fearful of that coldness.

She stirred.

He leapt back in shock, heart pounding, another cry rising to his lips, until he realised, and he cursed himself for his own stupidity and paranoia.

Asleep, he told himself, she was asleep. He breathed deeply once more, until he felt calm once more. He gazed down at her.

He hadn't seen her for years. At least six years, he realised with a jolt of surprise, and even then, it had been at least eighteen months before then that they had really known each other. Then she had been an attractive young woman, with the vestiges of girlhood still clearly visible, eager, enthusiastic, and keen. There was no doubt that she was still the same girl, but now, there was no denying that she was a woman.

It was a cliché he realised, but an apt one. Her face was rounded, and soft, but there were cheekbones just visible now, that had been hidden under girlish cheeks. Her full lips were parted slightly, her dark lashes swept the top of cheeks, she was soundly asleep. He leant in closer, and saw more of the short dark hairs had stuck themselves to her forehead, and on her rounded shoulders. Her hair was sleek against her head, cropped short, and seemed unnaturally dark in the dim light. He frowned, realising the style was new, and it seemed strange to him that she had taken time out to get a hair cut when she had so much happening to her.

He shrugged, there would be time for answers later. For now he had a message to deliver. He propped the note up against the mirror and hoped that she would see it.

He took a final glance at her, and felt something within him stir. It had been so long, and yet she still had the same affect on him. And that was dangerous.

He slipped silently from the room. It was as if he had never been there.

Inside the room, Ashleigh continued to sleep. One hand tugged at her new shorter hair, strange even in sleep, and then was still again. The TV continued to drone on, the glamorous, and _tres chic_ news presenter smiling glossily into the camera.

'_In other news, the Comtessa De Silva will be opening the doors to her glamorous Parisian home for one of the most exclusive social events of the season. Celebrities, politicians and anyone who is anyone will be gathering in the name of charity on Saturday night… '_

The anchorwoman continued her enthusiastic monologue, but still Ashleigh slept on.

* * *

The next morning Ashleigh smiled politely at the equally polite concierge as she passed over her room card.

'You slept well, mademoiselle?' he asked, a neatly groomed eyebrow arching slightly.

'Yes,' Ashleigh replied, somewhat surprised, 'thank you.'

As she walked through the lobby, she threw a glance back over her shoulder at the man. She felt a flicker of apprehension travel through her. What did he know? Subconsciously, her hand slipped into her pocket and fingered the note she had found that morning.

There were too many questions in her life, and each day merely brought new ones. She was tired of chasing them.

Later that afternoon, Ashleigh wandered mindlessly through the tourist areas of Paris. She didn't care where she went, what she did, she was merely killing time.

This was what real spying was about, she realised as she headed towards the Louvre. The glass pyramid of the building glinted brightly in the strong sunlight. Waiting. Endless waiting. A spy had to be patient, had to wait for the opportunities to present themselves.

She could well remember the days spent pouring over mindless information at MI6, doing all the hard groundwork, searching for each significant detail amongst endless amounts of data. It had hardly been the glamorous life style that she had imagined when M had first offered her the opportunity of joining MI6.

Finding out her father had been a spy, and one of the highest ranking, most elite and important spies in the country had been more than just a shock. She had found herself sitting opposite M, a woman she knew to be her father's employer, but not in the capacity she had thought, her mouth hanging open, the coffee in the cup she was holding rapidly cooling, trying desperately to process the information she had been given.

David Kain had been a 00 agent. Licensed to kill, licensed to thrill as the running joke within the hallowed halls went. Her father? A spy? At first the information had been so overwhelming that she hadn't even made the connection. Her father had died in a car crash, but he had been a spy.

M had realised then that she still didn't fully understand. For a moment she had regretted the decision to tell the girl, after all, she had only just turned twenty one, could she really be expected to fully understand the implications of what had just been revealed? Slowly, carefully, she had begun to explain. How David Kain had died in the line of duty, how the car crash had been a carefully concocted cover story.

At first there had been anger, pure, unadulterated rage, fury that M had so carelessly thrown her father's life away. Then finally, understanding. It had been her father's choice to die for his country, and for the first time in years, Ashleigh had felt close to her father, a father who had become a memory. She was proud of him, she realised, and now she had that opportunity to follow in his footsteps. The training had been enthusiastically undertaken, all thoughts of other careers pushed away as she strove to be her best, physically, mentally, and above all else, to be in the select few that would go forward to become field agents. She learnt how to use the latest technology, how to fire weaponry, she studied martial arts, learning both how to attack, and how to defend.

There had been other shocks. Discovering James's true identity had suddenly explained so much. At first it had been difficult, but he had been encouraging, more encouraging than she had ever known him, supporting her as she struggled through the more intense parts of her training. Learning to kill had been the worse, but as James had rightly pointed out it was a primeval instinct, kill, or be killed. Survival of the fittest, so to speak.

There had been one other major shock.

Alec.

Her teenage years had been filled with idle thoughts of the man, regret that he had died, and intense memories of the few times they had met.

Suddenly she was forced to contemplate the unimaginable, that this man had betrayed everything that she had now come to believe in. And that not only had he lived when she had thought he was dead, he was now truly dead, killed by James Bond.

Alec.

It all came back to Alec, it always did. He was her drug, her addiction, and yet at the same time, her rock. She knew Alec Trevelyan, she thought fiercely, no one else did.

Her decision to join him had not been made lightly. She hadn't even known if he wanted her, she only had her own feelings, and what M had told her to go on. Had M misunderstood?

Her arrival had been through a drugged haze, and met by an extremely reluctant man. They had been suspicious of each other, but in some strange way they had been happy too. Happier than either of them could have imagined. He had come to realise that she wasn't just there to spy on him, she was there because she wanted to be. She had given up everything for him, and that had appealed to his ego.

Love.

She could count on one hand the amount of times he had told her that he loved her, yet she knew, she knew how all consuming their love could be. Yet she didn't know when she had fallen in love with him, or he her. Perhaps they had always been in love, and because they hadn't recognised their feelings, they hadn't understood the implications of them.

At first, they had been suspicious of each other, sidling around, refusing to allow trust into their relationship. But when desire overcame that suspicion, when they had given in to the urgent need, to the passion that brought them together in a night that had been hot, sticky, and desperate, their sweat drenched bodies entwined in a violent expression of their need, they had known.

Known that they were together, known that they could touch each other whenever they wanted, without fear, without suspicion, only with desire, and mutual need.

One night, everything had changed.

Slowly, he had caressed her. Slowly he had touched her, kissed her, surrounded by darkness, enveloped by the heat of the night, she had let him, lazily letting her body take over, feeling him fill her, complete her, a satisfaction she had never known before, wrapping herself around him, her mouth pressed hungrily against his, wanting more, and seeing her own need reflected in his face.

Their confusion had been clear in the silence that had followed. They had lain in each others arms, tentative, shaken, hearts pounding, realising that something had happened in that moment, something that had been threatening them since the moment they had met.

She knew then she could never leave him.

They had slept fitfully that night, both of them tormented by feelings of being overwhelmed.

Suddenly he had woken her, and in the dark hours just before dawn, made his confession.

She had looked into his scarred face, scars that she didn't see anymore, stared into his deep green eyes and knew that he spoke the truth. The response sprang to her lips automatically, as quickly as it had when others had said those words, and she had hesitated, knowing she could only reply if it were true.

It was true. She knew it to be true and so she had whispered it into the night, feeling his arms tighten around her, crushing her to him.

There had been no fanfare, no chorus of angels, and no dramatic change of perspective. It had simply been. They had merely said what they knew to be true, and returned to sleep.

But there was more than one kind of love, and Ashleigh knew that now too. Discovering she was pregnant had been terrifying, she had been alone in a foreign country, with a man she couldn't be sure of, not knowing if he even wanted to be a father. She had blamed the symptoms on everything else possible, the different climate, the change in diet, the stress of her new life, anything to fight back the suspicions that she had been ignoring for at least two months.

There was so much to be frightened of; but at the back of her mind one thought always came through. Children lost parents. She had lost hers, an orphan at the age of thirteen, and Alec had lost his, something she knew would always haunt him.

Her bag had been packed, her ticket from Sicily booked, Alec had been away for the day, and she had planned to be gone before he had returned. She would vanish, and he would never know. She would make her decision later about the child, but for then, she had wanted nothing more than to escape. Parenthood had never been in their plans, Alec wanted a lover, not a mother.

Fate had intervened, she had forgotten her passport, and Alec had returned early. He had taken one look at her packed bags, the retrieved passport in her hand, and the look of stubborn determination on her face and demanded an explanation. He had been furious, and that anger had scared the truth out of her.

They had been married a month later. She had been four months pregnant, her rounded stomach just noticeable beneath the white sundress she had worn. Two English speaking tourists had been dragged in from the street to act as witnesses. It was not the wedding she had dreamt of as a child, but gazing at Alec, dressed in an open necked white shirt, as she stumbled through her vows, it all seemed somehow right.

Five months later, as Christmas approached, her daughter had been born. At first things had been difficult, as she had realised motherhood wasn't as natural as she hoped. Combined with Alec's jealous possessiveness of his daughter, she had struggled through the first few weeks, but finally, the bond had been there.

Natasha had been the key to giving them what they had both always wanted, but never had. A family. Ashleigh could gaze for hours at her daughter, trying to see what features were her's in Natasha's face, and what were Alec's. There was no doubt that the thick dark hair, and full lips came from Ashleigh, but her eyes were Alec's. The grey green colour, the thick lashes, and the intense look were all his, as were the angular cheekbones. Her daughter would break hearts in the future, Ashleigh knew, with the same effortless ease as her father.

Ashleigh stopped walking, feeling the memories threaten to overwhelm her. Angry tears pricked at her eyes as she thought of her daughter, out there somewhere with no one to protect her. She had to concentrate on finding her, or finding Alec. If she could just find him, then they could find Natasha together.

She had come to Paris to find him, a place she remembered from her childhood, but had no idea where to start. The note in her pocket seemed to burn her, had Alec left it for her? The block capitals were as impersonal as one could get when writing, with no sign of Alec's usual flamboyant script, the single sentence merely instructing her of a time and a place. In, she had to admit, not a particularly appealing area of Paris.

She sat on a bench, gazing up at the magnificent structure of the Louvre. She wondered whether it was worth heading inside, and killing a few hours being a tourist for once. The appeal of gazing at beautiful artwork was definitely growing, but as the summer sunshine beat down on her, she shook her head. This wasn't the time to be enjoying herself. Her daughter was missing.

She ran a hand over her hair, feeling the unfamiliar shortness slip through her fingers. The hair stylist at the exclusive salon had flexed his razor in glee when she had described what she had wanted. The sharpened blade had sliced effortlessly through the thick, close to shoulder length hair, tapering it into the neck, creating the jagged crop. Next had come the colour, the black so rich it seemed to glint almost blue in the sunlight. Her eyes itched, explaining to the optician what she had wanted had certainly tested her French language abilities, but the contacts had worked amazingly well.

She almost hadn't recognised herself in the mirror that morning. Deflection. She had never bothered with the technique before, but somehow, she felt it might come in handy now she had half of MI6 on her back, and probably most of Interpol too. They were looking for a woman with longer hair, brown in colour, and with brown eyes. Instead they would see a woman with short black hair, and vivid blue eyes. A form of camouflage, she supposed, and hopefully enough to deflect interest away from her. Even if the blue tinted contact lenses caused her eyes to itch like crazy.

She glanced at her watch. She had just enough time to get back to the hotel and change before she ventured out that evening to meet her mystery note leaver. She felt the rush of adrenaline pump through her veins at the thought; finally it felt like she had a lead.

Fighting her way through the crowds she almost missed the blond hair at first.

_Alec?_

The thought was in her head before she even realised it. The man was ahead of her, tall, she realised, walking confidently through the crowds.

'Alec?' she whispered. She started forward, struggling to move forwards, suddenly it seemed like everyone else was heading in the opposite direction to her, it was like trying to swim against the tide.

'Alec!' she cried, wanting the man to turn around, to see the narrow green eyes that would flash in recognition, to see him smile as she came towards him.

Where was he? She had lost sight of him, she realised, she glanced around frantically, there! Taking a deep breath, she fought onwards, apologising without realising it as she grew closer…

It was like being rugby tackled, she thought, as she collided with something, or someone incredibly solid. The air was forced from her lungs, and it was all she could do to keep her balance. Her shoulder bag slipped from her grasp and crashed to the ground.

Instinctively, she bent to retrieve her belongings, before realising there was someone else assisting her.

'My apologies, mademoiselle,' a gruff voice murmured close to her. A gold ringed hand reached out, and picked up her battered diary from where it had fallen, offering it to her.

She took it, and glanced up into cool blue eyes, beneath the brim of a panama hat. 'My fault, entirely,' she replied in French, her innate sense of British politeness kicking in automatically.

'Forgive me for asking,' the man, 'but are you alright?'

'I'm sorry?' Ashleigh asked distractedly, reaching for her mobile phone that had crashed worryingly to the floor. She glanced at the man once more, and stopped short.

His face was thrown into shadow by the panama, but she could make out a wide nose, that had been broken more than once in his life time, and a concerned look on face. His jaw and chin were covered in a thick, but neatly groomed beard. He was a solid looking man, she realised, no wonder it had hurt when she had crashed into him. He was in his late sixties, she decided, but still fit, and still a commanding presence. There was no sign of his age as he straightened smoothly, and handed her the bag.

'Its just you seem flustered,' his French was superb, Ashleigh realised, but there was a trace of something else in his accent, something she couldn't quite pick up on.

'Oh,' she coloured, and then shrugged helplessly. 'I thought I saw someone… someone I know…'

Her voice trailed off as she realised how pathetic her hopes had been. Alec was the last person who would be walking openly around Paris.

The man smiled kindly at her. Distractedly she realised he had a gold tooth. 'Perhaps you did, mademoiselle. I'm sure you'll find whoever it was you were looking for.'

He gestured with the bag, and she took it, thanking him for his help. She turned as he walked away, and saw him glance back at her again. Smiling once more, he touched the brim of his hat to her, and then was swallowed up by the crowd.

Ashleigh walked away, dazed to think how easily she had been caught up in her own wild fantasies of Alec being in Paris that she actually thought she had seen him.

She stopped short. Confusion danced across her face. 'But I never said I was looking for anyone…' she murmured, startling the doorman who was holding open the door to the hotel for her.

To his credit, he merely nodded politely at her. Still shaking her head, Ashleigh headed inside. She had obviously been in the sun for too long.

* * *

The Bois de Boulogne was an area of Paris that Ashleigh had heard many rumours of, but had never actually visited. Somehow, despite it being a park, she had always somehow imagined it to be like Soho in London, a place that could be entirely respectable, even fashionable by day, and a completely different world at night.

Glancing around the dark, heavily wooded park, she decided that this was nothing like Soho. She walked briskly through the park, making eye contact with no one, definitely not the women, the men, or the strangely asexual figures that catcalled to her, making her offers, that despite their promises, she knew she had to refuse. She stayed near the edges, daring not to venture too deep into the 'Garden of Earthly Delights'.

She wore black, all the better for hiding herself, and she tugged her leather jacket tighter around herself, feeling more vulnerable than she had in some time. It was just like Alec to organise a meeting in a place like this, it appealed to his sense of drama.

'Where the hell are you?' she muttered, then snapped 'Not you,' as a respectable suited man glanced interestedly her way. He shrugged, as if to imply it was her loss, and headed away. Heaven only knew what his suit concealed.

She was feeling more frightened with every minute that passed. It was long past the appointed meeting time, and she felt a trickle of nervous sweat snake down her spine. This place scared her, the woods seemed dark and intimidating, and while she doubted there were any wolves waiting in there, she was scared of its more human occupants.

She screamed as strong arms clamped around her, and began dragging her backwards.

She ground her heels into the dirt, fighting, twisting, desperate to pull away, but whoever had a hold on her was stronger, and intent on dragging her into the night, one hand clamped painfully over her mouth to silence.

'Don't scream,' a voice hissed in her ear, low and dangerous. She nodded slowly, and felt the hand move from her mouth, the grip loosen on her body.

She turned so quickly, she nearly fell, and stared into the face of her mystery correspondent.

Fear turned into outright shock.

'You!' she finally managed to gasp.


	13. Chapter Twelve

Please accept my apologies for the nearly year long break in this story. To cut a long story short - my marriage broke up and my writing took a seriously bad turn. I never meant to be away for so long, but finally I'm in a place to carry this on. It seems my life has to parallel Ashleigh's in a strange twist of fate. To appease you all, there will be two chapters posted tonight. Please enjoy and forgive me.

* * *

'You!' Ashleigh managed to stammer for a second time.

Of all the people in the world, he was the last person she had expected to see.

Yet, when she thought about it, she really shouldn't have been surprised.

_Seven years previously_

The hotel was just down the river from the highly abstract MI6 building. Like many of the major hotels in the city, several members of staff were cunningly planted MI6 operatives. This fact, plus the close proximity to the HQ meant that it was considered the perfect place to hold a celebratory gathering.

To be honest, there hadn't been much for MI6 to celebrate recently. Terrorism was rife in the world, and the Middle East conflicts were dangerously close to getting out of hand. It meant there would always be work, but little to celebrate.

Tonight was different though. A huge operation had taken place recently, and more surprisingly had been an unmitigated success. Several agents were letting their hair down, alcohol was flowing freely, and several rooms had been booked at the hotel to let the party continue late into the night without the customary hassle of fighting over taxis. Even M was there, sedately sipping mineral water in the corner, deep in conversation with the Norwegian ambassador.

One person was missing though, and one person was looking for her. He glanced round, wincing slightly at the scene in one corner where someone was being challenged to drink a foaming green cocktail, but saw no sign of her.

Except, of course, for the billowing muslin that covered the doors outside. Billowing because someone had accidentally left the door open. Given away by a mild breeze, he thought to himself as he headed for the doors.

Outside, on a small private balcony, Ashleigh Kain contemplated her future. She had been doing this a lot lately. Damn it, she was nearly twenty four, and she had been stuck in cryptography for the last seven months. The elegantly arranged blooms in the flower pot in front of her were bearing the brunt of her frustration as she unknowingly tore them apart.

In front of her the city glowed. The sun was setting over Waterloo bridge, taxis advertised their wares as they nipped up and down the streets, and above it all, the new London Eye presided. She watched the glass pods as they rotated sedately, and found herself hypnotised by their slow journey.

'Been on it yet?' a rich, deep voice asked from behind her.

She nearly jumped over the railings in surprise.

'Not yet,' she murmured, not bothering to turn around. Only one person would have come looking for her, and she was glad he had. It didn't mean she was going to make him feel welcome in her makeshift private space though.

'Scared, Agent Kain?' he gently teased.

'Too right, I am,' she said quite seriously. 'I've always hated Ferris wheels.'

'Hardly a Ferris wheel, Ashleigh,' he nodded towards the structure. 'I'm sure we're supposed to think of it as a feat of British engineering.'

'Overgrown Ferris wheel,' she grumbled under her breath.

'You're cheerful tonight. Not celebrating?'

She shook her head, suddenly painfully shy.

Charles Robinson sighed deeply. Sometimes it seemed like you needed to use a sledgehammer to get through to this particular young woman. 'You should be.'

'I don't feel like it, Charles.' Ashleigh shrugged. 'You must understand that.'

All too well, Charles thought as he gazed out over the river. Gently he laid a hand upon her arm where it rested on the railing. 'So you're hiding out here.'

'I was,' she smiled slightly.

To his surprise, he was glad he had made her smile. For the last six months, he had made Ashleigh Kain his personal project. Being a member of M's staff was an honour, he knew that, but working within a group of equally experienced agents was often frustrating. More often than not it led to petty bickering in the command room.

The recent assignment had been his case. A nuclear submarine had suddenly vanished off radar. MI6 was perplexed, and were even more so when several other submarines had vanished as well, including three belonging to the Norwegian Navy. Random messages had been sent to MI6, strange transmissions, and even more bizarre demands. It had soon become clear that the world was being held to ransom.

Again.

While James Bond and two other 00 agents had been off doing the hard physical work, there had been teams of agents doing the hard background work back in London. One of them had been Ashleigh Kain.

Charles had noticed the young agent immediately. It was difficult not to knowing her history. Father who had been 009, James Bond's goddaughter, it was more surprising if you didn't know who she was. What had surprised him was her complete lack of confidence about her own abilities. He had taken her under his wing, a high ranking mentor so to speak. On a one to one basis he found her to be a pleasant, but quiet young woman, and with an intelligence that was surprising even for an agent. Cryptography was obviously something she was good at, and so he had made sure she had gotten the transfer to his assignment. It had been a good idea, the best he had had.

A week ago, was that all it had been, there had been a tentative knock at his office door. A bright eyed, flushed Ashleigh had appeared, carrying what appeared to be several very large maps.

Within minutes she had covered his desk with them, showing him the pinpoint co-ordinates of where the subs had vanished. He hadn't made the connection. Patiently she explained. The co-ordinates were the code. Running them through a computer had revealed a pass key – the series of digits that broke the code. She had used the code to translate the passkey into a new co-ordinate, one that revealed where exactly the subs were – a stabilised iceberg in the Artic Circle.

She had had just one question – could it really be that easy? Charles had frowned, and then proceeded to explain something that all agents needed to know.

Most of the men they dealt with were egomaniacs. They were obsessed with their own worth, their own power. They wanted the world to know what they were doing, that was why things often appeared so simple. The simple part was finding them, the difficult bit was stopping them.

But that wasn't Ashleigh's job. Ashleigh's job was to find them, and she had.

His pride in his young protégée had been noticed. But not by her. Stubbornly she had continued to do her job, and even now as they celebrated a mission, she refused to join in, despite her major role in it.

He tried once more.

'Ashleigh, if you hadn't found those co-ordinates…'

'Then someone else would have,' she cut in. 'I just happened to get there first.'

'But they might not have. You did this, and we won because of it.'

'No!' she snapped.

His hands balled into fists, the urge to shake some sense into her growing with every word. 'You should be in there lapping up the praise, Ashleigh. Accepting the credit for a job well done!'

'But what if I had been wrong? Its one thing to go in there and accept that credit, but it means responsibility. And if I had been wrong then I would have had to accept responsibility for that failure.'

'You're an agent, that's what you have to do. Accept responsibility for your actions. Even if you made a mistake.'

His hand had crept into hers as he had spoken, without realising it. Her palm was soft beneath his, her fingers entwined gently with his.

He glanced down at their hands, joined together. They had worked together for some time now, and her strangely attractive looks hadn't escaped his notice in that time, but he had convinced himself that he felt nothing more than pride in her as a teacher would a prized pupil.

Relationships between agents weren't necessarily frowned upon, as long as agents were discreet. Things got complicated when high ranking agents got involved with agents far below them. There were more than one agent that had got where they were today by sleeping their way to the top.

In a close knit organisation like MI6, sex often reared its ugly head. Charles had experienced it before, but only as a junior agent. It had been some time since he had felt this way about another agent. He had no doubt that he could be making a huge mistake.

But they were close, so close. Six intense months had left them with a friendship that couldn't be denied. And a growing attraction.

Her cheeks were flushed, her lips reddened, her pupils dilated. The biological symptoms of desire. He recognised them in her, could feel the warmth of her palm as she slid her skin against his.

Feeling like he was about to cross a line that he seriously shouldn't, he pulled her closer to him, feeling her free arm wrap around his waist. Dipping his head, he pressed his lips to hers.

She pushed closer against him, kissing him back with a passion that she had kept under control for the past few months.

How long they stood together on that balcony he didn't know, but at some point his hand slipped inside his jacket, and he removed the small plastic key card he had there. He handed it to her, her decision, she could walk away now, or they could go else where.

She kissed him softly, and then nodded.

The call had come through to M directly. The party had been going on for some hours now, and she was glad for the excuse to leave it. She didn't particularly like seeing how alcohol could hinder some of the finest minds in the organisation so quickly. She often thought that the best way to bring MI6 to its knees would be to put a free bar in its way.

Right now though she needed one of the finest, and sensible minds in MI6. She checked her watch, it was just after 1am. He'd probably be asleep, but she knew he wouldn't mind the intrusion.

From her pocket she took the skeleton key card. She had been given it by the hotel at the beginning of the evening, but she hadn't thought she would have to use it. However this was a matter of national security, and it was necessary.

His room was on the third floor. She paused before it, then slid the card into the slot. The light turned green, and she slipped inside.

The suite was large, comfortable, and elegant. She tapped lightly on the bedroom door, and entered.

Her first thought was how startling the contrast was between his dark and her pale skin. Entwined, and most definitely asleep, there was no denying what had happened between them.

Shock made her stare, taking in the hands still clasped together even in sleep, the rumpled sheets around them, tousled hair, and content expressions on their faces.

Her star member of staff, and the young agent she was trying to protect. M could seriously feel a headache coming on.

She glanced back at the sleeping, naked pair, sheet pulled up to preserve modesty, and decided that she could do without Charles Robinson tonight.

For three weeks, their relationship blossomed. Kept discreetly away from work, they met whenever they could, stolen evenings at her house in Islington, or at his flat in Fulham, evenings spent just enjoying each other's company, sharing the simple pleasures that others took for granted like having dinner together, or watching a film. Sooner or later they would tumble into bed together, and once more allow their passion to take over. In all honesty, it had been one of the happiest times in Ashleigh's life, and she had found herself fighting a growing dependency on Charles. To her surprise she had even began thinking that they were a couple.

They had thought they were being discreet, but M had seen the glances stolen between them, the smiles they shared across rooms, and had known that this was serious.

It had been a cold, calculated move, but M knew she had no other option. She couldn't allow the relationship to continue. Robinson was far too senior, and M had other plans for Ashleigh.

She had made the offer to Charles. Become Chief of Staff. There were a few conditions, and stipulations. One being the impossibility that Robinson could ever become involved with anyone within the organisation.

At the same time, M had offered Ashleigh a transfer to a different department. This time she would be a more active agent, and able to prove herself. It could lead to great things. Things M knew Ashleigh wanted. The gamble M was taking was whether Ashleigh wanted Robinson more.

Robinson had glanced into M's hard blue eyes, and had known that she knew. He had no idea why she would object to the relationship, but he couldn't find the words to argue with her. A sudden weight had settled upon his shoulders as he had slowly, and carefully made his decision.

That night he had let a rain soaked Ashleigh into his flat. She was being transferred, she told him enthusiastically, almost dancing round his home in excitement.

Then she had seen the look in his eyes.

Dully he had outlined what M had offered him.

'Oh,' she had said softly, suddenly understanding everything.

She couldn't hold him back, she knew that. She wouldn't hold him back.

He had taken her to bed that night, but each kiss, each caress, each touch had felt like the last. That had been their goodbye, and when Ashleigh had slipped out of his home early the next morning, she had determinedly not looked back.

Seven years later, and her life had changed beyond recognition. Older, perhaps wiser, but definitely changed, Ashleigh faced her ex lover, and felt a sudden sense of security fill her. In the darkness of the wooded park, she threw her arms around him, letting his solid strength comfort her, pressing her face against the brushed suede texture of his jacket, breathing in his warm, rich scent.

'Charles,' she whispered.

He held her, pulling her against him, one hand cradling her head, letting his fingers slide through the silky shortness of her hair. 'Tell me what happened,' he murmured to her.

'Not here,' she shook her head, glancing around at the shadows, suddenly feeling very exposed.

The bar they found was smoky, with quiet jazz playing over a scratchy stereo system. A bored looking barman was leaning on the bar, idly flipping through a newspaper while the rest of the clientele gazed gloomily into their drinks and avoided conversation with each other. Ashleigh followed their example, swirling the vodka in her glass, refusing to meet Charles's eyes.

'I have a daughter now,' she muttered finally. Charles nodded, letting her speak. 'I was attacked, and while I was unconscious on the floor they took Tasha.'

She raised her eyes at last, and in them was a challenge. Go on, she seemed to say, ask me who her father is. Instead he leant over, and lifted her short fringe, seeing the healing gash on her forehead.

'Do you have any idea who took her?' he asked.

She coloured. 'No,' she admitted finally. 'Two men took her, but who they were working for I have no idea. I was followed when I left my home, was told that Paris was where I could find answers,' she sighed with frustration, 'so here I am, and no closer to the truth than I was when I was stuck at home under M's claustrophobic protection.'

M had been distinctly silent since her return to MI6, Charles knew. Meetings, inquiries were being held, questions were being asked, and M's behaviour was under scrutiny. But for now, Charles wouldn't tell Ashleigh that. He picked up his whiskey and tipped it down his throat.

'I can help you,' he said simply, as he clinked his glass back down onto the table.

'Can you?' she asked coldly. He could sense her retreating back into herself, determined to fight the fight alone. He could still remember how stubborn she had been, how stubborn she still evidently was.

'I can.' He took her hand, felt her about to snatch it away, and tightened his grip. 'Just trust me, Ashleigh. I want to help you, so just let me, okay?'

'Okay.' She had to admit, it was good to see a friendly face at last, someone who was on her side. 'I just want my daughter back, Charles. I'm supposed to protect her, and I can't. I haven't protected her, she should never have been taken.'

'But you can find her, and I'm going to help you.'

She took a deep breath, forcing away the tears that had threatened, the ones that always threatened when she thought of her little girl.

'Right,' she said, hoping her voice didn't sound as shaky as she thought it did. 'Where do we start?'

He looked steadily at her, and began to speak. He didn't ask her about her child's father. He didn't have to. He already knew. And he'd have to deal with that little revelation later.

'You understand what you have to do?'

In the darkness the voice seemed to surround Alec, chilling him to the bone. It was a voice of authority, a voice of command, and Alec knew he would have to obey. Summoning his strength he forced all the arrogance he could into his reply.

'It's hardly as if I have a choice, is it?'

Merkalov laughed in the darkness. 'We all have a choice, Alec. But there are always consequences to the decisions we make, so choose carefully.'

Alec scowled. The implications were clear. Make the wrong choice and Natasha would suffer. One day, he'd make Merkalov suffer. And suffer he would.

'I understand.'

The weapon was thrust forcefully into his chest, almost crushing the breath out of him. He glanced down, and in the dim light he could just make out what looked to be a semi automatic weapon. He raised an eyebrow as he recognised the model. 'An interesting choice,' he said scornfully.

'You've yet to make yours. And time is running out.'

Alec's fingers tightened on the gun. His eyes closed, and he could see his daughter's sweetly smiling face, and knew his decision was made.

'I'll do it,' he said bleakly.

Merkalov's laughter filled his world.


	14. Chapter Thirteen

Pierre Merkalov did not believe himself to be a cruel man. A just man, a fair man, a man who only dealt out pain when he thought that others deserved it. If he had taken Trevelyan's daughter, then Trevelyan deserved it. It was a simple matter of justice.

Justice for wrongs done in the past.

Natasha Trevelyan had not bloomed in captivity.

Her thick dark hair that had tumbled carelessly down her back now hung in limp strands around her face. She fumbled for a strand of it, feeling the coarse texture with unknowing fingers. Dully she chewed the end of it, a comforting habit. If her mother was here, she would be chastised for it, but her mother wasn't here to see. She watched with dead eyes as the man who had held her captive stalked round the room, occasionally muttering under his breath. He glanced every so often at the child and marvelled that the Trevelyan spirit had been broken so easily.

Natasha was huddled in the corner of the room, her back pressed against the cold wall, her shoulders slumped. The guards had taken her from her small room some days before, and she had found herself on an aeroplane for the first time. She had been frightened, trapped inside the hollow metal tube with its flimsy looking wings, and she had screamed until someone had sedated her once more. She had screamed for her father, for her mother, for anyone who would save her from the terror that seemed to fill her life now. The plane journey had been the last straw, now she was silent, watching and waiting for the chance to do something. Quite what, she didn't know yet, but she knew that she had to do something.

The bearded man scared her too. He tried to be nice to her, but there was a coldness to him that she didn't understand. He talked of her father, but her daddy when he was younger. Before he had been married, before he had even known her mother. She didn't understand all that he told her, only that her father had been a kind of soldier, a secret soldier, and that was why he hadn't told her about it. Natasha had frowned. She had only seen soldiers in pictures, and she couldn't quite match up the uniformed image with the tall, well dressed man that was her father. She didn't like the stories that the man told her. He had told her his name was Pierre, but now he wanted her to call him 'Granpére', which he told her meant 'grandfather'.

She had refused.

Her grandparents were dead, she had argued, they had died before she was born, so the bearded man couldn't be her grandfather.

He had been angry then, and she had been frightened again, but at the same time defiant. She had seen pictures of her mother's parents, and they had seemed strangely young, but her mother had explained they had been young when they had died. They would have been good grandparents, she thought, she would have liked to have had some, but this man would never be her grandfather.

He was the closest thing she would ever have to a grandfather, he had snarled at her.

Now she remained wary of him, she didn't trust him. If she stayed quiet, he wouldn't know what she was thinking, and she liked the thought of that.

Merkalov paced the room. His encounter with the dark haired woman in Paris was playing on his mind. He had been curious to see the woman who had captured Alec Trevelyan's heart, and against his better judgement he had orchestrated to literally bump into her.

His head snapped round back to the child. Yes, he thought, yes. He could see it now. He strode purposefully across the room to where Natasha was huddled, taking some pleasure in the way she cowered when he approached. Roughly he grabbed her chin, jerking her face up so he could look into it.

Definitely her mother's child. He wouldn't have called the woman in Paris beautiful, but definitely attractive. Hardly Alec's taste though, he thought, recalling some of the model like beauties that had caught Alec's critical eye before. The face had been warm and friendly, with gently rounded cheeks, and a full mouth. The eyes had been startled, and unnaturally blue.

He stared into the child's face. Yes, she had the same rounded face as her mother, the same mouth. The cool green eyes were wide with terror, as his thick fingers dug into her face, as the frozen blue eyes carefully analysed every detail. Finally he let her go.

'Get me the Vixen,' he snapped to a nearby guard.

A slim screen lit up on a table. He waited patiently while the woman he mockingly called the Vixen was connected. It was a poor play on his own moniker, but he enjoyed the wounded look on her face whenever he used it.

'Yes?' she snapped.

'Trevelyan's wife,' he said bluntly. 'Everything you know about her.'

He saw the expression of superiority appear on her face. 'I told you she was important.'

It was true. The Vixen had been pushing for the focus to be shifted onto the wife for sometime. 'Just tell me.'

There was a pause, and suddenly the screen was dominated by what appeared to be a personnel file. The Vixen's voice filled the room.

'Ashleigh Trevelyan. Married Trevelyan five years ago, after only knowing him a few months. Now this is the interesting bit. She used to be a spy, working for MI6, was involved in a couple of high profile assignments, before suddenly vanishing abroad. It appears that she met Trevelyan in St Petersburg while attempting to retrieve a biological weapon.'

'So?' The scorn in Merkalov's face was clear.

'So?' The Vixen was incredulous. 'So? What this means is we have access to her entire background. She was a spy, and an infamous one too.'

'Infamous?' Merkalov frowned.

'For two reasons. Our dear friend 007, a certain James Bond just happens to be her godfather. Which does explain why he has taken such a close interest in this little fiasco. Secondly, her maiden name is Kain. Ashleigh Kain. Daughter of David Kain.'

The name was one he knew, but why? Confusion, for once, was clear on his face.

There was a trace of triumph in the Vixen's voice this time. 'Or as you may have known him, 009 of the British Secret Service.'

The realisation hit him in seconds. For a moment he was there, the cold snow whipping around him, watching as the British spy was forced to his knees, the bitter laughter of the men filling his ears as they watched the humiliation of the enemy.

He saw the stoic determination in the man's dark brown eyes, and knew that the man knew he was about to die.

He saw the gun in Alec Trevelyan's hand.

Pierre Merkalov was lost in the past. He didn't see the way Natasha crept forward silently, until she could stare at the screen. He didn't see the way her small hand pressed against the photograph of her mother's face.

He didn't see the tears that slid silently her cheeks.

'_You were having a nightmare, Alec,' a concerned voice broke through Alec's subconscious._

_Slowly he was coming to, trying to hold back the bile that rose in his throat. He was soaked in sweat, it was in his hair, his eyes, coating the stubble that covered his upper lip, trickling down the muscles of his chest. _

'_Alec?'_

_The sheets beneath him were satin, his skin stuck to them uncomfortably, with some effort he peeled himself from them so he could sit upright, fighting to untangle his legs from the twisted fabric. _

'_I'm okay,' he finally managed to gasp._

'_You were moaning, Alec. Talking in your sleep. I was worried.'_

_He didn't believe her, but he stayed silent, holding back the vicious comment that had immediately sprung to his lips. _

_Her hand went to his shoulder, and he resisted the desire to flinch away from it. Instead he let her cold hand press against his burning flesh._

'_Tell me,' she whispered into his ear. _

_No, he wanted to scream at her, push her away, anything to avoid thinking about the dream that tormented him so often._

_The snow was cold around him, despite the thickness of the leather boots his feet were still numb. He forced them forward, towards the courtyard, letting the snowflakes that fell settle on the short stubs that were once his eyelashes. The hair on his face had been burnt away in the explosion, it was only now, six months later that his eyelashes and eyebrows were re-growing. Another humiliation to add to his livid flesh, and twisted grimace. _

_The courtyard was filled with men, if one could call it a courtyard. No, it was more like a prison exercise yard, now filled with soldiers and languid officers. _

_He walked faster, panic beginning to course through him. His body refused to move quickly enough, it would be over before he could get there. He tore at the buttons on his thick parka, fumbling within its warm depths for the revolver he had placed there earlier. He would need it now. _

_David was there._

_David._

_David, kneeling in the snow, blood soaking his clothes. It seeped into the snow around him, staining it a diluted pink._

_He hadn't seen David for nearly seven months. His soul soared to see the man he had called a friend, but his sensibilities reminded him that he had a new loyalty now. _

_He drew back the safety on the revolver._

'_No,' he heard himself speak as if from some distance away. 'No.'_

_His eyes met David's, those eyes that were the same rich brown as bitter coffee. He saw recognition, surprise, anger, and then dismay flicker through them all in a single heartbeat._

_David didn't speak. He merely bowed his head, knowing the end had come._

_A gunshot rang out into the cold Siberian afternoon, and Alec woke from the dream._

'_Alec, what's wrong?'_

_In any other voice, the words would have come across as concerned, but in her voice, they grated on his nerves, whining, petulant, a spoilt child demanding to know a secret._

'_Tell me!' She demanded._

'_Nothing!' Alec snapped back, twisting away from the porcelain hands that tried to trap him to her. _

_Her rosebud mouth pouted, china blue eyes flashed with anger, defiling the usual doll like effect. Alec felt nothing when he looked at her but disgust with himself. He had allowed Lucinda to seduce him with her ravishing looks, but however beautiful she was on the outside, he had seen into the core of her, seen her pathological greed, and a desire for power that bordered on the psychotic. _

_He turned towards her, hands gripping her, and he saw her flinch away from his scars. The urge to hit her had never been stronger, to wipe that revulsion over her face with a well placed blow, but his days of hitting women were long behind him. The question was whether Lucinda even counted as a woman. She was a witch, he decided, who charmed men and then destroyed them, a modern day Siren. _

'_Is your conscience bothering you, Alec?' she taunted him, refusing to show pain at the tightness of his grip. _

'_At least I have a conscience, Elliot,' he growled._

'_It'll destroy you in the end,' she hissed._

_He had kissed her then, grinding his mouth against hers, crushing her to him, knowing he was hurting her, and not caring. _

_Anything to stop her from speaking the truth._

The incident was praying on Alec's mind as he meticulously slotted the high tech semi –automatic rifle together.

One day he would have to explain to Ashleigh what had happened.

He didn't think that she would ever forgive him. He dreaded the day when the truth would out


	15. Chapter Fourteen

Thank you to everyone for your kind reviews. I'm glad this is still being well received after the horrible, evil way I treated you all.

* * *

Paris was sweltering in the heat of the summer, and as the night drew in, that heat had not yet dispersed. Over the Comtessa Da Silva's elegant Parisian home, the dense purple anvil shaped clouds that heralded thunder had gathered thickly, the air seemed heavy with low pressure, and seemed to settle hot and damply upon the bare skin of the party goers. 

The house was situated in the centre of a lush park, once used as a palace for the fashionable Paris court. The starkly white walls presided regally over the equally fashionable set that gathered there that night. Through the many windows, lights flickered and shimmered, drawing the guests in like moths to a flame.

Stepping anxiously up the neatly gravelled drive, Ashleigh swallowed a flash of foreboding. Before her the house seemed as cold as ice, an image only emphasised by the huge ice sculptures that decorated the flagstones outside. A rearing swan fought for pride of place with a leaping dolphin, the guests gathered below them in delight, cooing and praising. To Ashleigh though they were cold, as cold as the ice they were sculpted from, lifeless and without soul, a false mimicry of animation. Other shapes loomed in the growing darkness, and inside she could see the cold sleekness of yet further statues.

Within the building she was met with chaos. A stark black and white marble chequerboard floor seemed to vibrate beneath her as what seemed like thousands of dancers lurched and swept round it to the sound of throaty evocative jazz. A thousand lights merely highlighted the starkness of the room, everything was white, even the sweeping grand staircases that led to a viewing level above the room, a level consisting mainly of hidden alcoves and shaded balconies. Two huge fountains dominated the room, the frosty water crashing not into a shimmering pool beneath, but over crushed ice that shone like diamonds in the brilliant light. The guests laughed and shrieked as they dipped their glasses into the fountains, scooping the ice up into the finest champagne, relishing the coldness after the suffocating heat of the day.

Ashleigh trembled as she stepped inside, assaulted by the vivid colours of the women's dresses as they swirled in the arms of dinner jacketed men. It had been too long since she had been to an event like this, and she could remember every minute of that night.

She had swept into the Mariinsky theatre that night, her toned body covered in the simplest coffee coloured satin, her skin flushed, her body lit from within with an inner glow, only two nights earlier she had discovered the pleasures of Alec Trevelyan's bed. Her skin had been heated by his touch; she had exuded the sexual confidence of a satisfied woman. Even her stubborn godfather hadn't been able to miss the heat that came from her, he had jerked away the moment he had touched her.

That night had ended in death, and she prayed that tonight would not follow the same path. A Russian minister had been shot as he had pawed Ashleigh's satin covered thigh, and Alec had swore that he hadn't been the finger behind the trigger. Ashleigh, lying in his bed that night, had believed him.

She had always believed him.

He had killed twice in her presence. Both in her defence, or at least she had convinced herself of that fact. Both had been brutes, both had caused her injury. Both had ended up dead.

Ashleigh trembled once more, remembering how easily Alec had fired those weapons, without a second of doubt. Death came easily to him, cold blooded murder equally so.

Now she was faced with the possibility that Alec would one day turn a gun on her.

The doubt had been growing in her mind for some time, as she had slipped from one country to the next, hiding behind false names, and a false sense of bravado. Her greatest fears were becoming reality; her daughter had been taken, her husband missing. Was James right? Were the two linked? Had Alec really orchestrated such a betrayal?

Her heart screamed no, but her head told her otherwise. Alec was no stranger to betrayal, yet she had never really considered the thought that he would betray her. She was his wife! He had married her, claimed her, she had his name, bore him his only child, his beautiful daughter, their beautiful Natasha.

The man at her side felt her tremble, and with a gentle gesture, slid his arm around her waist. Ashleigh glanced up, staring at the strong jaw, the generous mouth, the dark eyes, and felt protected.

Charles Robinson allowed the woman next to him to mould her shape against his, the top of her head barely brushing the side of his shoulder, she was so much smaller than him. Looking down at her, he found himself staring straight into enquiring blue eyes, so strange to see that vibrant colour there, and quickly looked away.

The moment their eyes met, Ashleigh experienced something she hadn't felt for any man other than Alec for some time. Deep within her, she felt a jolt, a sudden dart of desire fluttering just below her stomach. And judging by the way that Charles had looked away so suddenly, she felt damned sure he had felt it too. Colour flooded her cheeks, and a sense of confusion seemed to swamp her. Gently, but firmly she pulled away from Charles, her heels clicking on the marble floor beneath her.

It was time to mingle, Charles decided firmly. Time to explore, time to do anything, time to move away from the woman at his side. Somehow though, he couldn't quite pull away from her.

'Would you care to dance?' he found himself asking.

She shot him a puzzled glance, but slowly she nodded.

Anything to avoid having to talk to each other.

Who knew what secrets they might reveal?

* * *

It seemed like hours later when Charles finally allowed a breathless Ashleigh to rest. Leaning against a marble pillar, she gratefully accepted a glass of champagne, and let the cold liquid refresh her.

'Charles,' she murmured under her breath, and Charles leant in to her once more, a memory rushing to the surface of his consciousness as he remembered how she would gasp his name as he made love to her, his Ashleigh that he had almost fallen in love with. His blood seemed to race through his veins, her perfume was a veil that wrapped around him, and he could see nothing but her full pink lips, curving themselves around the syllables of his name.

Dancing with her had not been the most sensible idea, with her slim body pressed against his, his memories had broken loose, and reminded him over and over again of their brief, but passionate relationship.

Now as he looked down at her he realised how much time had passed. This was a new Ashleigh, one with blue eyes and black hair, there was so much that had changed about her, not only in her new, modified appearance, but in her very attitude, in her demeanour, and yet hidden underneath she was still there, and she was still tempting him. At the same time he was feeling something else towards her, a dawning sense of anger, and hurt as he waited for her to make her confession. How long would he have to wait before she would admit who the father of her child was, he thought she had trusted him once, and he wanted her to trust him now.

She was staring at him now, as she sipped her drink, a slightly puzzled frown on her features as if she could sense his discomfort. Forcibly he pushed away his emotions, refusing to think how easy it would be to lean down and kiss those lips, how easy it would be to take her in his arms. They had been lovers before, their lovemaking intensely passionate, but at the same time filled with laughter. He had been able to relax with Ashleigh in a way that had eluded him in other relationships. He had always presumed it had been because there had been no secrecy in their relationship, she had known his job, and he had known hers. They were both spies, tangled in the web of deceit that their chosen career caused, and yet when they were together they were free from it. He had loved her laugh, and seeing the usually sombre girl finally give into her mirth, beginning with the slight giggle, the gentle chuckle, and then finally that laugh that made her catch her breath, and tears spring to her eyes, completely uncontrollable and utterly real had been one of his favourite things about her.

He wanted to make her laugh now. He wanted to take her away from the pain she was feeling, and if he were honest with himself, which he was trying desperately not to be, he wanted to distract her in other ways too. The urge to kiss her was growing stronger again, and he was relieved when she pulled further away.

'Charles,' she murmured again, and this time he forced himself to listen, berating himself at the same time. The usually unflappable Charles Robinson was on the brink of losing control, and it was definitely an unfamiliar sensation for him. He focused on her words.

'Don't you think you had better explain to me why we're here?'

It was a fair question.

Unfortunately, he didn't quite know how to answer it without lying. So lying would have to do this time.

Or at least he would have to avoid the truth.

'This event is the reason I came to Paris in the first place,' Charles glanced around at the attendees in the room. 'Some of the most famous faces in the world are gathered here tonight, including some very well known politicians.'

'I had noticed,' Ashleigh followed Charles's gaze around the room. If anything, Charles's words had been an understatement. Ashleigh was recognising figures that held some of the greatest power in the world. In some strange way, seeing them up close reminded her of how isolated she had been in the last five years.

'MI6 received information that there was every possibility of a terrorist attack here tonight. Or an assassination. Hence the MI6 presence, not to mention the French Secret Service.'

Again, Ashleigh had noticed. A spy usually could tell one's kind, and Ashleigh had already spotted several guests that were, to the trained eye at least, acting in a slightly strange manner.

'Ashleigh…' catching her by the arm, Charles gently tugged her into a nearby alcove, so that they would be shielded from the mingling crowd. 'Ashleigh, somehow I think this is all connected. I think that the people who took your daughter are the ones that are presenting the threat here tonight…'

A cold look flashed into Ashleigh's eyes, only emphasised by their new colour. 'You think, Charles? Or do you know?'

Even on Charles' dark skin Ashleigh could see the colour rising. He had always been a poor liar when confronted head on.

'It's an educated guess, shall we say?'

'And what other guesswork have you been doing?'

This time it was Charles' eyes that were cold. 'Enough, Ashleigh. Enough to know I'm not the only one with secrets round here.'

For a moment Ashleigh stood confused, but then suddenly a chill crept through her blood. Her eyes widened. 'What do you know?' she whispered.

But Charles wasn't listening. Deliberately he had turned away from his ex lover, and walked away, leaving her standing alone amongst the swirling dancers.

* * *

High above, hidden in the shadows of a private balcony, a figure knelt and waited. He peered around the marble pillar, watching the people below, and scouting around. His eyes fell on an arguing couple. The man was tall, black, and well dressed, his height shielding his companion from view.

'Charles Robinson,' he murmured. 'M's faithful lapdog.'

The observation was an unnecessarily cruel one, but he didn't have time to think about that because suddenly Charles turned and walked away into the crowd. His heart seemed to stop beating as he glanced down at the woman Charles had left alone.

She was here.

Ashleigh.

He had suspected that she had been in the city, but only as he had crept into her hotel room earlier that day had they been confirmed.

His wife's belongings had been strewn across the room, unable to resist it, Alec had picked up the perfume she had left in the bathroom, spraying it across the cuff of his shirt, letting the familiar scent remind him of the warmth of her body, the feel of her skin against his, all the sensations he had missed in their time apart.

He didn't want her here, he didn't want her to witness what he was about to do.

But he couldn't take his eyes off her.

* * *

'Charles…' Ashleigh called to him as he stalked away, 'Charles, please, don't be like this…'

Frustrated, she plucked at his sleeve, trying to attract his attention.

'Charles, please… peace, truce, anything.'

He continued to ignore her, but at least he was beginning to slow down. Ashleigh had always found trying to run in heels, even low kitten heels desperately difficult. Heartened by this, she tried again.

'Look, I didn't even say thank you, did I…'

'For what?' Charles muttered over his shoulder.

'What do you mean for what?' Ashleigh laughed gently. 'For the dress of course.'

'Ashleigh, what are you talking about?' The question formed readily enough, but Charles seemed distracted.

'For leaving this dress for me. In my room…' Ashleigh's voice trailed off. Charles wasn't listening to her, instead he was glancing above her head.

She had a horrible feeling that Charles wouldn't have a clue what she was talking about even if he was listening to her.

Roughly Charles grabbed her arm. 'There.'

He was pointing away from them, at a man who stood surrounded by bulked up men in dark suits. The man was of average height, with a non descript face, small rimless glasses, and a receding hair line. His dinner jacket was simple, nothing, apart from the presence of so many bodyguards, made him at all remarkable. Yet Ashleigh still caught her breath.

'Jacques Le Frenicet,' she whispered.

'That's him,' Charles confirmed with a subtle nod.

Jacques Le Frenicet may have looked unremarkable, yet his achievements made him legendry. His works within the United Nations as a diplomat had led him to be nominated for the Nobel Peace Prize.

In other words a man who had lived for peace and peace alone.

With a detached eye, Ashleigh watched the non descript man as he sipped at the flute of champagne he had just taken from a pretty dark haired waitress. A UN diplomat. High profile, popular with the media. Now officially designated a target.

'And how exactly do you plan to save his life?' she asked coldly.

Anger flashed across Charles's face. 'In any way I can, Ashleigh.'

'Really?' realisation was beginning to sink in rapidly. 'Are you sure those were your orders?'

'What the hell are you talking about?'

'This is all too neat, Charles. What you have to remember is that I have been M's pawn before in the past, and now she's attempting to use me again. You're using me!' Ashleigh's temper was beginning to fray, her tone becoming more accusing with every word. 'I don't believe that _you_ would do this to me Charles, I thought that you might have some sort of … of… loyalty to me, but apparently not!'

She was struggling to vocalise her suspicions, trying to relay her fears to her so called friend. 'You brought me here. You brought me here on her orders. You know that it'll draw him out, your using me as bait for my own hus…'

She had said too much, her eyes widened, and she had to stop herself from clamping her hand over her mouth. Her temper had always been one of her weak points, and now it had led her headfirst into her own blunder.

'You were saying?' Charles crossed his arms across his chest.

'It doesn't matter,' she said, looking away, her cheeks flushed.

'When were you going to tell me, Ashleigh?'

'Tell you what?' she said, faking ignorance.

'The truth!' He almost shouted the words, and he physically had to restrain himself from reaching out and shaking her by the shoulders. 'When were you going to tell me that Alec Trevelyan was your husband? When were you going to tell me he was the father of your child? When were you going to tell me that you had married that traitor?'

She staggered backwards, away from Charles's anger.

That action saved her life.

Three shots rang out.

Cries filled the room.

And Charles was lying on the floor bleeding.


	16. Chapter Fifteen

Once again, thank you for the reviews. Weaponry blatantly stolen from Dan Brown's 'Deception Point'. I was on holiday. That's my excuse and I'm sticking to it.

Screams of panic suddenly started throughout the ballroom reaching a horrifying crescendo. Startled, Ashleigh looked round, tearing her eyes away from Charles's body on the ground.

Events seemed to be happening in slow motion, she saw a body fly slowly through the air, to land awkwardly in one of the deep fountains. A single hand flopped limply over the edge, a gold ring adorning one of the long slim fingers. Cries of panic continued to howl around her, as the partygoers frantically tried to crush their way through the far too few exits, terrified they would be the next victims.

Automatically Ashleigh scanned the faces, and saw with dismay that Jacques Le Frenicet was not among them. She watched as his bodyguards surrounded the body in the fountain, and knew all too well who they saw lying in there.

Shakily, Ashleigh knelt down, the marble cool and hard beneath her bare knees. Her fingers pressed tentatively at Charles's throat, and with a surge of relief she felt a pulse there, faint, but insistent.

'Ashleigh?' Charles whispered hoarsely.

'I'm here,' she answered automatically, still trying to take in the scene around her.

'My leg.'

Trying to gain control Ashleigh moved so she could examine Charles's leg. His black trousers were shredded by his right knee, and the mangled wound beneath was all too visible. Ashleigh could see little white flecks mingled in with the exposed bloody flesh and realised with a shudder of horror that they were the remains of Charles's knee cap.

'Bastard kneecapped me!' Charles gasped indignantly. His dark skin had taken on an unhealthy ashen look, and he was obviously trying to control his pain.

'I'm sorry, I'm so sorry,' she murmured, not really hearing Charles's words or her own reply. Her attention had been caught elsewhere, puzzled she was staring at a small object that glistened damply near her left hand.

She scooped it up, and saw to her surprise it was a lump of ice, about the size of a marble, she rolled it slowly in her palm, feeling it melt as the heat of her skin warmed it. Unlike a marble though, it wasn't smooth, instead it was cracked and in some places jagged edges protruded. It was also stained pink, no, she realised, it was coated in blood, blood that diluted by the melted ice was now pooling in the palm of her hand.

Horrified, Ashleigh finally recognised it, and with a shudder of disgust she almost threw it to the floor.

A bullet. Or rather a pellet, a projectile made of ice. Ashleigh had heard of these weapons before, rifles, or automatic weapons that meant soldiers could utilise their environments to create a never ending supply of ammunition. In the desert, sand could be compressed and heated into glass, creating these lethal pellets, in snowy conditions snow would be packed into ice, and fired with the same lethal results as regular ammunition. Troops would no longer have to carry heavy supplies of cartridges or other ammunition, all they would have to do is scoop up a handful of sand or snow…

Or crushed ice.

Ashleigh glanced over at the fountain. The crushed ice could have been used to create the small pellet that was now melting by her feet. It would explain the jagged edges. But this technology was so new that it was yet to be authorised for regular military use, only the most advanced, not to mention secret, units were using this form of weaponry.

With a sickening realisation Ashleigh knew what the message was. They were taunting her. Whoever had her daughter, whoever had shot Charles, assassinated Le Frenicet, they were telling her how powerful they were. What weapons they had access to, and how prepared they were to use them. If they had the latest technology who knew what else they had? Frightened, Ashleigh once more scanned the room, trying to work out where the shot had come from.

Movement in the higher levels caught her eye, and for a moment she saw sandy hair and green eyes staring straight at her. She froze, and stared, refusing to acknowledge what her eyes told her, it couldn't have been Alec, she was seeing things, like she had earlier in the week, it was nothing more than her imagination…

She blinked.

And he was gone.

'Ashleigh?' Charles saw her blanch, and groped awkwardly for her hand. 'What? What do you see?'

'Alec.'

'Where?' Anger coursed through Charles, fury that the bastard had shot him, anger that he would then taunt Ashleigh with his presence.

'In the balconies.' She was struggling to form the words through lips that were numb with shock, if she hadn't already been on the floor she thought she might have crashed to it, she was shaking, her body in indecision, half of her telling to run after him, the other half demanding that she stay where she was.

A hand clamped upon her shoulder, and she only just managed not to scream.

Even in her confusion, to him, she was beautiful.

Alec stared at his wife, as if committing her every feature to memory, and perhaps he was. The deep, dark pink strapless dress showed off the elegant curve of her shoulders, the colour was perfect against her pale skin, contrasting sharply with her darker than ever hair. It brought out the English rose flush of her skin, and the fullness of her lips.

Alec wanted her. He ached to vault over the balcony and to take her into his arms, to kiss her, to touch her, to tell her he was sorry for so many things.

But he couldn't.

He knew there were women in this world far more stunning than her, far more attractive, but to him, Ashleigh was life itself. Her imperfections merely added to her unusual looks, and he had been drawn to her personality as much as her looks. Her sheer determination and stubbornness rivalled even his, and he could see that now as she stood in Paris, having tracked him this far. He had no doubt that he could run forever, and she would still be there, searching for him, always on his tail.

But for now he had to go.

He knew that she had seen him.

And he was glad that she had.

A final glance and he was gone.

James Bond could fill a dinner jacket like no other man on Earth. Even in the stark fluorescent lights of the hospital, he still drew admiring looks. Ashleigh doubted that quite so many nurses had business on this corridor, yet since they had been standing there, there had been a never ending stream of uniformed women filing past them.

'I don't want another coffee,' Ashleigh complained bitterly.

'Its not coffee, its tea. And it's good for shock,' James argued, forcing the plastic cup into her hands.

'With plenty of sugar,' his companion coerced.

Ashleigh looked over the other woman with distaste. In the shadow of the tall brunette, she suddenly felt almost shabby in comparison. Infuriated by her reaction, Ashleigh decided to ignore the other woman. Pointedly she put her cup on one of the small plastic tables nearby and stared at the door opposite.

Behind it, Charles was being treated, having been stretchered away when the emergency services had arrived at the scene. It had been too late for Jacques Le Frenicet, and already the world newspapers were preparing their sycophantic tributes to the peaceful man, obituaries that would focus on his achievements and ignore the man behind the headlines. On the front pages, sensationalist headlines would announce his death, and speculate on who exactly was behind the assassination.

It was a thought that Ashleigh refused to contemplate. Charles was convinced that she had indeed seen Alec, and had continued to reiterate his theory that it was the work of a terrorist cell, one with Alec firmly in the centre of it.

It was a theory that Bond agreed with. However for now he kept his thoughts private, instead waiting to hear the extent of his friend's injuries.

With an irritated shrug of his shoulders, he once more glanced around the deserted Parisian hospital corridor. It was now the early hours of the morning, and apart from the odd nurse, or rarer still a white coated doctor, they were alone.

'They' were an unusual trio. Bond couldn't resist but steal another look at his glamorous companion.

The dark green satin set off the olive skin. Like Ashleigh's dark pink dress, Jasmin's was strapless, showing off neat, angular shoulders. Unlike Ashleigh's knee length, flared skirt, Jasmin's fell sharply to the floor, a thigh length split giving a glimpse of long, shapely legs beneath. She was, Bond decided, the most ravishing creature he had seen in some time. He had enjoyed being seen with her at the ball, enjoying the envious glances of the other men in the vicinity, knowing that later that night; Jasmin would be in his bed, while the others could only dream of such pleasure. He ran a hand down a toned arm, his fingers finding hers, and was rewarded with a warm welcoming smile. Almost imperceptibly, they moved towards each other, drawn by their mutual desire.

'For Christ's sake…' a muttered, and somewhat irritated voice interrupted them. Ashleigh rose jerkily to her feet and stalked off down the corridor, away from the smouldering heat that surrounded her godfather and his latest conquest before it scorched her.

Jasmin arched an eyebrow, an unconscious imitation of Bond's own pointed gesture. The unvoiced question was loud and clear, and Bond felt his own glimmer of annoyance at his goddaughter's surly behaviour.

'Monsieur Bond?' The door to Charles's room opened, and a thin, neat looking doctor slid out, before quietly shutting the door behind him.

'Doctor?' Ashleigh hurried back down towards the room, concern once more etched on her face. 'Is Charles alright?'

'Oui,' the doctor nodded briskly. 'His knee will require further surgery, but it is not urgent. We will release him to return to England within a few days, he will be able to wait until then.'

'May we see him?' Jasmin asked softly.

'It is late,' the doctor shook his head, tapping his watch to reiterate his statement. 'Monsieur Robinson will require much rest. Perhaps you could return in the morning.'

'Doctor, please? Just a few minutes?' Ashleigh pleaded. She desperately wanted to see Charles, to make sure that he was ok, and, if she was honest with herself, to try to alleviate some of the guilt she was feeling over his injuries.

A pause, and then another brisk nod. 'A few minutes. No more.'

Beneath his dark complexion, Charles's skin had an unhealthy looking ashen tone. With his leg heavily bandaged, and a slightly dazed expression from the heavy dose of painkillers he had received, he looked fragile, and to all of their concern, very tired.

There was an uncomfortable silence, made even more so by Ashleigh's quiet fuming that Jasmin fawned over her superior in an overly familiar manner.

The talk was strained, focusing entirely on Charles's wellbeing. Ashleigh was shocked by just how withdrawn he was. He was refusing to catch her eye, and she flushed as yet another clumsy attempt to draw him out failed miserably.

'M will have to know,' Jasmin finally ventured.

'Really?' Ashleigh muttered sarcastically. The older woman shot her a dark glance that neither Bond nor Charles noticed.

'I suppose I'll have that pleasure,' Bond sighed.

'What are you going to tell her?' Ashleigh asked, feeling fear beginning to grow in the pit of her stomach.

Bond's gaze was cold. 'The truth, of course.'

'But…' Ashleigh feebly protested, 'We can't be sure it was… that …'

'Ashleigh's right, we're not entirely sure that it was Trevelyan.' To Bond's surprise Charles came to his goddaughter's defence. 'Perhaps it would be best to omit that information in the preliminary report.'

'She saw him!' Jasmin pointed out fiercely.

Ashleigh looked away. She didn't want to think about that moment, when she saw those brilliant green eyes staring straight at her. Her hands were clenched into tense fists, hidden by the folds of her skirt, she couldn't bear to think that Alec had been there, and all that it implied, yet at the same time she couldn't bear to think that he hadn't been.

'Perhaps Ashleigh isn't the most objective of witnesses,' Charles suggested. 'Put what she saw down to wishful thinking. She's been under a lot of stress recently.'

Bond snorted, and Ashleigh saw a look of disbelief cross Jasmin's face.

'What if he was there,' Ashleigh asked softly. 'What does that mean?'

Bond and Charles exchanged a look. 'We all know what he is capable of, Ashleigh,' Charles said after a long pause. 'We all know he's your husband, but we have to face facts. Alec Trevelyan has killed in cold blood before, and it appears that he did so again tonight.'

'That's all in the past,' Ashleigh hissed, the colour draining from her face. 'He wouldn't, not again, he promised me.'

'Did he?' Jasmin asked.

The urge to slap the other woman's face was growing with every word. Ashleigh hated the arrogance that surrounded her, hated the way she fawned over Bond and Charles, hated the way that her entire countenance cast doubt on every aspect of Ashleigh's relationship.

'What the hell would you know?' Ashleigh snapped her temper dangerously close to fraying.

'Actually, quite a bit,' Bond interrupted. He wasn't sure that this was the best moment to bring the information to light, but he could see he needed to distract Ashleigh before she clawed the other woman's eyes out. 'Jasmin has been working on Alec's file for many years now. Every since Natasha was kidnapped, she's been assisting with the investigation, and knows more about your husband than perhaps any other agent.'

'What?' Ashleigh tensed, trying to take the information in. This woman had made Alec her speciality? Had dedicated her career to focusing on a man that she didn't even know? Ashleigh gave a bitter, short laugh, and crossed the room to the window. She leant her head against the cool glass, letting it soothe her. The others watched her anxiously.

'You're a profiler?' Ashleigh finally turned around. Her face was set with something close to resignation, yet anger was still there, hidden beneath the mask.

Jasmin glanced at James for reassurance before she answered. 'Its one of my duties, yes. Amongst other things.'

'And you've been profiling my husband?' Ashleigh ignored the rest of Jamsin's words.

Once more Jasmin carefully phrased her words before replying. 'I've been profiling Janus since –'

'My husband!' Ashleigh had almost shouted the words before catching herself, swallowing the words of protest that had immediately sprung to her lips. She paused, before continuing in a calmer tone. 'My husband…Alec has not been Janus for many years now. Please do not call him that. He is not Janus.'

Jasmin nodded slowly. 'I've been profiling Alec for since his defection,' she amended, 'he's been something of a specialist subject of mine.'

'Unbelievable,' Ashleigh whispered. Did this woman have to be so … so brazen? 'Is this some kind of a joke?' she snarled at James and Charles.

Undeterred, Jasmin pushed on. 'James asked me for assistance. He seems to think that because I've spent so long studying Trevelyan that I might somehow get inside his head, work out where he might go next, what he might do next…' Jasmin trailed off, Ashleigh was slowly shaking her head.

'No one gets inside Alec's head,' she said sorrowfully. 'Even I haven't been able to. I'm sorry, but I think you've had a wasted journey. You all have.'

She looked at each of them in turn, her godfather, the beautiful woman in the green dress, and Charles, Charles lying injured in bed, his knee a grotesque mess under the heavy white linen bandages, and she started to feel the walls close in on her.

'I'm sorry,' she murmured once more and fled from the room.

It didn't take long to find her.

James saw her sitting alone outside, perched on the edge of a small wall that bordered the hospital gardens. Her small shoulders were slumped, weighed down under such a heavy burden he thought sympathetically. He approached her slowly, knowing she sensed his presence, giving her time to compose herself if she needed to. She still had her pride, perhaps it was the only thing she had left.

'Can't the entire world just sod off and leave me alone for five minutes?' she grumbled as he sat next to her, but he knew that she was pleased that he had followed.

'Apparently not,' he said idly, wrapping his dinner jacket around her bare arms and shoulders.

Ashleigh glanced behind him. 'I see you managed to leave Miss World alone for five minutes.'

He was more amused by her jealousy than offended by it. Women could be such silly creatures when faced with someone they believed to be more attractive than them. He had seen it far too many times before.

'So where did you find her?' Ashleigh asked with a stubborn little jerk of her chin back towards the hospital. 'No, don't tell me, you simply fell over her in the sacred hallways of MI6.'

Almost, James thought humourlessly, if you substitute the MI6 hallways for the cemetery where your parents are buried. 'Something like that.'

'And were you going to tell me about her? Or where you just planning to spring her on me at the dance tonight?'

James felt more than a glimmer of annoyance with his goddaughter's sudden possessiveness. 'I was going to introduce the pair of you later, in fact, I thought it prudent that the pair of you should meet.'

Ashleigh wasn't listening to him. 'Forgive me, James, but I have more important things on my mind thank thinking about you and your latest conquest. 'Specialist subject' indeed,' she snorted softly, thinking back to Jasmin's words about Alec. How the hell could that overgrown preying mantis ever know anything about Alec? He was her husband for Christ's sake, she knew Alec better than anyone, not some stupid, overly glamourous woman who considered Alec Trevelyan to be her research subject.

But do you? A traitorous little voice piped up somewhere in the back of her mind. Are you entirely sure that you know Alec at all? After all, if you knew him, wouldn't you and Natasha be at home now? Wouldn't you still be playing happy families? Again Ashleigh mentally pushed thoughts of her daughter far to the back of her mind. She would think about Natasha when she felt she could cope with it. She would try not to think of childishly she was acting, how frightened she was when her daughter was somewhere out there, a true child, and probably more frightened than Ashleigh had ever been in her life.

'Charles Robinson?' James suddenly asked.

Charles Robinson indeed, Ashleigh coloured.

'I never knew.'

'No one really did. M found out in the end.'

'Was it serious?'

Was it? Ashleigh wondered now. It had felt so at the time, it had felt so unbelievably serious, so passionate, intense, and good. She could have been happy with Charles, but fate had dealt her so many wild cards that it had seemed any sort of normal life had been out of the question.

She shrugged. 'I don't know.'

'It was Charles who found you. He recognised the name you used. He's still watching out for you Ashleigh. We all are.'

James shifted slightly, uncomfortable at the intimate tone of the conversation, but it seemed to have the result he wanted, Ashleigh glanced up at him, and gave a brief smile.

'I think I know that now.'

He reached for the jacket around her shoulders, and fumbled in the inside pocket. When he brought out his hand again, he was holding a folded white handkerchief. 'I brought something for you.'

'For me?'

He held his hand out flat towards her, expecting Ashleigh to take it from him. She stared at the neatly folded white square, and felt a strange sense of foreboding surround her. She didn't want to take it, but she knew she had to open it. With cold fingers she fumbled the cotton open.

Nestled inside was a single leaf. There was nothing unusual about the leaf, it was merely a simple small leaf, once a delicate silver green colour but that had faded leaving it almost pewter coloured in the dark night. She knew she had seen leaves like that before, and she wondered where, racking her memory, and suddenly she saw them, clear in her mind's eye.

Spring days, summer days, autumn days, winter days. She had seen that leaf in every single one of its states, from the delicate opal gleam of the newly budded leaf, to the deep dark brown decaying carpet of dead leaves under her feet.

They were the leaves that fell on her parents' graves, from the trees that shaded them from the heat of the summer, and protected them from the bitter elements in winter. How long ago had it been since she had been there, standing in front of the two simple white marble headstones that marked her mother and father's final resting place.

She looked at James, wondering why he had brought her such a painful reminder of her past, wondering why he wanted to hurt her so much.

'I swore at your christening that I would protect you from the evil in this world. And I tried. But you've made your bed Ashleigh, and now you have to lie in it. You need to know what sort of a man you married. What he's capable of. You owe it to yourself, and you owe it to your daughter. That's why I brought Jasmin here. She can talk to you, tell you about Trevelyan. And I want you to accompany her on a trip.'

'Where?' Ashleigh's eyes narrowed in the darkness.

'Cuba.'

'Cuba? Why Cuba?'

'You know why.' James' tone dropped several degrees in temperature.

Goldeneye. Alec had taken the device to Cuba. Alec had almost died in Cuba.

'No.'

'Aren't you curious, Ashleigh?'

_Yes._

'No.'

'You have to do this, Ashleigh. You have to do it if you ever want to see your daughter alive again. You have to understand what he is capable of. What he could do. What he has done.'

She looked at him with eyes that sparkled wetly, but none fell. He held up his hand once more, the leaf there mocking her, dragging her past once more into the presence, and with a shaking hand she struck it to the ground.

'Damn you, James,' she hissed. 'Damn you.'


	17. Chapter Sixteen

Charles Robinson was floating on his first drug trip since his long ago college days. The morphine kept the pain away, but also brought strange dreams to his interrupted sleep. Every part of his body ached, not just his shattered kneecap, but every single bit of his anatomy felt like it had been through the wringer and back. His leg felt heavy and reaching down he felt the thick, rough shape of a supporting cast.

This was really going to mess this mission up.

He flopped back against his pillows, his mouth feeling like it was filled with cotton wool. He coughed dryly, and his stomach, as if protesting at the gesture, gave an almighty heave.

'Here,' a quiet voice said from his left before a shallow kidney shaped dish was thrust underneath his nose.

'I'm alright, I'm not going to throw up,' he pushed it away.

'Are you sure?' Ashleigh sounded sceptical, but she took the dish away. To his immense relief she passed him a glass of water instead.

'What are you doing here?' he said coldly. He knew he shouldn't be attacking her, but his frustration with the situation had doubled since the bullet had entered his kneecap.

'Playing Florence Nightingale.'

Charles snorted. Ashleigh scowled. 'What the hell do you think I'm doing here? I want answers, Charles, and you're going to tell me everything I want to know.'

'You know I can't tell you anything.'

'You had better start or I'm going to start withholding your morphine.'

Finally he looked up at her. She was slouched in a chair in the corner of the room, the shadows half hiding her, but he could sense the anger radiating from her. She was dressed in jeans and an off the shoulder jumper, and for some reason this irritated him even more.

'I see you've changed,' he said icily.

'The nurses were giving me funny looks.'

She didn't mention that the pink dress's origins had completely unnerved her.

'What time is it?'

'A little after three.'

'In the morning?'

'In the morning. You were rushed into theatre at about 9pm last night. I'm glad to say it was a success.'

Charles clutched at the blankets, pulling them tighter around him. 'No thanks to you.'

Ashleigh raised a disbelieving eyebrow. 'I hardly pulled the trigger myself, Charles.'

'As good as,' he hissed back, his temper only aggravated by the increasing pain in his leg.

It was all Ashleigh could do not to roll her eyes. 'Fine. Enough. We both have information the other wants. We could be civil to each other once, Charles, more than civil. I think its time we tried that tact again.'

'Do you want to start or shall I?'

Ashleigh was discomforted by the anger he was directing at her. She hadn't quite expected to be welcomed with open arms, but this hostility was frightening her. She had never felt so alone in her damned life, and Charles was now merely adding to that feeling. She rubbed her temples with fingers, trying to ease the tension there.

'Fine,' she finally breathed. 'I want to know why you're here.'

Charles glared at her, but eventually he unbuttoned slightly. 'When M returned, she asked me to keep an eye on you. In anyway I could. James was already looking for you, but as you can see, he was a little distracted. I noted you entering the country via Charles De Gaulle, and came out here to confront you.'

'Why?'

'Why indeed?' Charles sighed and shifted in the bed, his leg refusing to let him get comfortable. He sipped from the water glass, hoping the action would give him time to think. 'Because I didn't believe what I was hearing, Ashleigh. Because I wanted to hear the truth from the horse's mouth, so to speak.'

'So ask,' Ashleigh challenged.

'Later.' Charles gave her a dark look. 'To all sense and purposes, MI6 has washed its hands of you. You are to receive no assistance, and any agent discovering you is under orders to detain you immediately. The same goes for your husband, but that information is classified to all but the highest levels.

'That's comforting to know.'

'This isn't a joke you know, Ashleigh. Its deadly serious.'

'I am aware of that. I have been since they took my daughter.'

'MI6 have uncovered information regarding her abduction.'

Ashleigh sat bolt upright, her hands gripping the arms of the chair. 'Why didn't you tell me before? What do you know? Have you found her?'

'No,' Charles murmured wearily. His head was beginning to throb in time with his leg. 'But before I tell you, you must understand one thing. The more we discover about this Ashleigh, the more we believe that your husband was involved.'

'No.' Ashleigh shook her head vehemently.

'You seem pretty sure about that,' Charles examined a particularly clean corner of the sheet covering him.

'Natasha was Alec's life. She gave him everything he ever wanted, a family, a blood relative to call his own. He wanted to keep her safe above everything else. Me? I could fend for myself if needs be, but Tash? Tash was to be protected at all costs.'

'Really?' Charles commented sarcastically.

'Alec was working for M, Charles, you should know that.' He saw the anger in her building, saw the vivid red flush rising in her cheeks.

'So we thought.'

'What the hell do you mean?'

'Your husband was supposed to be meeting a convoy of goods entering the Ukraine from Georgia. M liked having him there, his name still inspires loyalty in many of the older members of the criminal underworld. Unfortunately we received news that he hadn't made it for the handover. Instead there was no sign of him, and the handover was a complete disaster. We lost several hundred thousand pounds worth of weaponry.'

'Oh dear. That was unfortunate.'

'Very,' Charles bridled at her deliberate antagonism. 'Especially as contained in that shipment were several new designs. Including the one that shot me last night.' Explain that one, he thought sourly. He had never thought he would enjoy taunting Ashleigh, but her stubbornness was grating on his already raw nerves.

'Coincidence,' Ashleigh brushed away the comment easily, but there was a new wariness on her face now.

'Well, that makes it even more amazing that this handover was scheduled to take place on the day you were attacked and your daughter taken. And what's even more coincidental is that a man matching your husband's description was spotted fraternising with a known criminal mastermind. Just a few days later. After he abandoned you in Sicily. And isn't it just even more coincidental that this man is the very person we are seeking in connection with the missing arsenal?'

Ashleigh remained silent but Charles could read the distaste on her face even in the dim light in the room.

'And that proves what, exactly?' she finally spoke, and the words came slowly, her mind frantically trying to digest the information given. 'Apart from the fact that the man you looking for might, and I emphasise that, might have been seen with Alec.'

'I believe that you received a white feather, Ashleigh. A single white feather.'

M's been telling tales, was the first irrational thought that shot through Ashleigh's head. 'And what do you think that means? I'm sure you're about to tell me.'

'You're searching for a man they call 'The Wolf'. The white feather is his trademark. Its either interpreted as a calling card, or…'

'He's marked you.' Ashleigh was horrified. The feather had confused her, but she had seen understanding in Alec's face before he had stormed from the room. There had been anger there, but there had also been obedience.

'Right.' Charles was growing more and more tired with every second that passed. His leg was half way to killing him, and he was in no fit state to argue the toss with Ashleigh. Nor was he willing to provide comfort in any form. 'M asked me to find you. She wants you to go to Cuba.'

'I know. James has already told me I should go. With Van Dien.'

'She's a good agent.'

'She's a jumped up secretary!' Ashleigh's temper snapped, her eyes flashed with anger, and she threw her head back disdainfully.

'Would you call Moneypenny that?' Charles hissed. 'Jasmin is a bloody good agent, and she's not just some Senior's personal assistant. She knows what she's doing, and she'll be able to help you in Cuba.'

Ashleigh snorted dismissively. 'Course she will. She'll be able to tell me everything I need to know about my husband. Its not as if I've learnt anything about him, having lived with him for the last six years.'

'I'm not so sure you have learnt anything.'

'What did you say?' Ashleigh's eyes narrowed.

Charles sighed. 'You had the world at your feet this time six years ago, Ashleigh. You could have been one of the most successful female spies in MI6 ever. You could have been a 00 agent, even M admitted that. If you had just learnt to control your impulses and grown up a bit. That's what's killing you now. Jamsin Van Dien is nearly the same age as you. She's exactly what you should have been, successful, admired, and above all she's ambitious. She'll go high in MI6, much higher than you ever achieved. '

He could see the way her fists clenched, the tension that was set into her shoulders. He was hitting very sensitive nerves. But it was the only way to get her agree.

'You bastard,' she whispered.

'It all boils down to jealousy, doesn't it?' Charles knew he had hit the nail on the head when Ashleigh sprang from her seat and began to pace the room. 'She's got exactly what you wanted, and what are you now? Wife and mother? What else?'

'I still work for MI6,' Ashleigh managed to mumble through lips that felt numb. She found herself staring blankly into space, anything to avoid the harsh look on Charles' face. 'I still work for you, you know that, you use my bloody reports and encodings every single working day. I translate, I unlock codes, I transcribe co-ordinates…'

'But its not the same as being an agent is it?'

Ashleigh gripped the back of the chair she had been sitting on, and felt a weight settle on her shoulders. It was what she had been avoiding since the day Natasha had been born, what she had refused to realise within herself. She had no career to speak of, no prospects for promotion. She had known that would happen when she had left her life behind for Alec, but now, faced with the horrors of the past weeks, she slumped, defeated.

'No, it isn't.'

Charles lay back against the pillows, still desperate to sleep. 'Then treat Cuba as an opportunity. This is a chance for you to discover the truth, but you're not going to be able to do that without some sort of assistance. M's decided to offer you that assistance.'

'I thought M had washed her hands of me.'

'After your vanishing act, she very nearly did. She was furious with you, and it doesn't pay to make the Ice Queen show any sort of emotion. It only leads to trouble. I've learnt that lesson the hard way. To everyone else, M has washed her hands of you. To those of us in the know, in other words, you, me, James and Jasmin, she's willing to make a deal.'

'I've experienced M's deals before. They have a tendency to benefit her more than anyone else.'

'Ashleigh, she's offering you your full agent status back.'

Ashleigh paused in her pacing. He'd evidently caught her attention.

'Full immunity. Support from international intelligence agencies. Even Interpol, and you know how difficult it is to get them to agree to anything. And all you have to do is relay any information you discover on the connection between Le Loup, the Wolf, and Alec.'

The name came awkwardly. To most, Alec Trevelyan was referred to as Janus, or occasionally as 'that bastard of a traitor'. Somehow, he suspected, neither would go down well with Ashleigh. 'That's all. Its merely an extension of your last deal with M, the one you made six years ago.'

'I have to spy on Alec,' Ashleigh said dully.

'Yes.'

Ashleigh fell back into her chair. Despair was coursing through her. She had no way of finding Alec without assistance, and yet, that came at a high price.

Defiantly, she thrust her chin into the air. It was time to start thinking like a Trevelyan. Alec seemed to have sold her out without a second thought, and now it was time to start thinking like him.

'Fine,' she said shortly, and if she was making a deal with the devil, then that was fine too.

'Fine?'

'Fine. I'll go to Cuba, I'll even go with that brunette Barbie doll, and I'll spy on my husband for you.' She sighed, a sound that came from deep within her, as if what she was saying pained her more than she cared to admit. 'Now. Tell me where I sign my soul away.'


	18. Chapter Seventeen

The plane had been in the air for five hours. It would be landing in Havana in an hours time.

For Jasmin Van Dien, that wasn't soon enough. She reached forward for the glass of red wine on the tray table and drained it. Catching the flight attendants eye she nodded in acceptance of the silent offer and another glass was placed in front of her promptly.

Thank god for that.

The journey had been a nightmare from start to finish. She had crawled from James's bed somewhat reluctantly at a ridiculously early hour, sated, satisfied, and strangely aware of how much she was going to miss him. They had been inseparable since their meeting a week ago, and she enjoyed his company, and his body. He has asked her to accompany Ashleigh on the trip to Cuba for more than just her knowledge about Trevelyan. He sensed that Jasmin had a way of drawing things out of people, and if Ashleigh would just be willing to open up to her…

Well, time would tell. Personally, Jasmin wasn't holding out hope. The time they had spent together so far had been absolutely disastrous. They had met at the airport, and straight away, Jasmin had realised that Ashleigh was taking her newly reinstated agent status very seriously indeed. The black suit had fitted her perfectly, and the brilliant green satin camisole had been chosen to show off her colouring. New high heels had clicked across the floor, and designer sunglasses nestled on top of her head. The whole look had simply screamed 'professional woman'. Jasmin had bristled, annoyed by obvious attempt to intimidate.

There had been no greeting, no common courtesy. Just a brief glance from the top of Jasmin's head to her stiletto heels and a barely disguised animosity.

'I suppose we had better check in,' Ashleigh had almost snarled.

'I suppose we had,' Jasmin had just about managed to restrain herself from slapping the younger woman round the face.

That had been several hours ago. By now, Jasmin had allowed herself to guzzle several glasses of wine, and try to involve herself in the inane movie that had been showing. Ashleigh on the other hand had made a deliberate point of ordering every single English newspaper (and a few in Italian as well - Jasmin was sure she was just showing off by this point), and reading them from cover to cover. Before taking out a pen and doing every single puzzle she could find.

Jasmin was on the edge of a nervous breakdown. She didn't know how she could cope with this … this woman for the next twenty four hours, let alone however long they would be there. Normally, Jasmin was the last woman to feel any sort of, well, jealousy for want of a better word. In Ashleigh, she recognised a woman with a determination to match her own. The competitive streak in both of them would be sorely tested during their time together. She knew, and she understood that this wasn't easy for Ashleigh, that the younger woman was suffering underneath the cool façade, and that was clear in the anxious set of her body, the way her shoulders never seemed to relax, the way she started slightly if she was spoken to when she wasn't expecting it, the way the pen tore into the paper because she was pressing slightly too hard.

Jasmin was prepared to make allowances. But she had a job to do and she wanted to do it. They would arrive, observe, analyse and report the situation. If they received the authority to do so, they would intervene. James had warned her that Ashleigh would be difficult, and she suspected that James had been against M's decision to reinstate her. But if it gave her a distraction, a motivation, then Jasmin believed it would only be a good thing in the long run.

That was if Ashleigh decided to co-operate.

The plane was landing. Jasmin leant back in her seat and sighed. Ashleigh glanced over at her, and raised an eyebrow. 'Are you alright?'

Jasmin was silent for a moment or two, stunned by the sudden concern. 'Fine,' she managed weakly. 'Absolutely fine.'

'Good.' Ashleigh was curt. 'I thought you were worried about the landing.'

'Not at all.'

'There's really nothing to worry about.'

'I know, flying is supposed to be safer than driving now.'

'I didn't mean that. I meant that landing and take off are the two most dangerous parts of flying. But if we do crash, at least we'll be killed pretty much outright.' Ashleigh gave a cruel smile. 'See. Nothing to worry about.'

Jasmin scowled at her. 'Thanks for that.'

'Don't mention it.'

* * *

The flight, despite Ashleigh's scaremongering, did land safely, and the two women found themselves met with the traditional diplomatic greeting. A large bulky man in a straining suit, expensive sunglasses, and a demeanour that shouted 'agent' opening the door to a sleek black saloon for them.

Ashleigh gestured to the open door of the car. 'After you, Agent Van Dien.'

Jasmin paused, and then attempted to give a smile. 'No, after you.'

Ashleigh shook her head. 'You're not the sort of woman I want to turn my back on.'

'Fine. Have it your way, Trevelyan.'

The man's head snapped up, and Ashleigh grabbed Jasmin's wrist, twisting it painfully. 'Don't you ever call me that in public again,' she hissed.

Jasmin winced, Ashleigh's hand was tight around her wrist and getting tighter by the second. She swallowed. 'Of course not,' she gently pried Ashleigh's hand away. 'I'm sorry.'

Ashleigh nodded, but her face was white. She licked her suddenly dry lips. 'Lets just go. Please.'

Jasmin needed no more encouragement, she slipped into the car, and felt Ashleigh follow quickly behind her.

They didn't look at each other.

* * *

Ashleigh was stunned by Cuba.

In her head she had built it up to be a dark place, filled with deception and murder. Instead she was greeted by a lush island paradise, with palms swaying gently in the sea breeze, and sand so pure it almost seemed white. The window to the car slid smoothly down, and she could smell the gentle salt tang of the sea. They were close to it, she knew that.

Cuba was a favourite assignment of MI6 agents. The house, or rather, the lavish beach hut they would be staying in was reserved entirely for use by MI6. The agents would come out, make a brief report; Castro still alive, still in charge, communism rife, nothing else really to report, before crashing out and enjoying an all expenses paid two week holiday lazing in the sunshine and drinking pina coladas. Seven years previously, Ashleigh would have given her right arm to have been assigned there, and Alec Trevelyan's deeds would have just been an interesting fact regarding the island.

Instead she was here with nothing more on her mind than the whereabouts of her missing husband and child. And Alec's deeds seemed darker, and closer than ever before.

Ashleigh wasn't innocent of her husband's misdemeanours. Like every agent at MI6 she had heard about them, even studied them, carefully cross referencing them with other attempts at World Domination, each time the agents had studied where to find the weak links in the chain of the plan, where the best place to strike would be, and how to manipulate the antagonist into making his fatal mistake. With the Goldeneye incident it had been obvious. The weak link in the chain had been Alec himself, the plan had been overly dredged in revenge and the past while neglecting the fact that it had all been down to simple greed. If any other agent had been involved, then the chances are Alec would have succeeded. But no, James had been involved, and Alec had been reluctant to merely take out his opponent without proving that he was still the 'better' man. Petty rivalries and boys being boys had defeated Alec's plan - with both 007 and the one time 006 both determined to prove they were the best.

Who had come out on top? From what Ashleigh had heard, neither man could confidently claim victory over the other. James had assumed it with Alec's death - but that would not have come about without some luck on James's behalf, nor would he have survived if not for some good timing with a helicopter and a beautiful woman. Alec had spoken to Ashleigh only once or twice about the incident, but each time, Ashleigh had picked up on a quiet sense of satisfaction on Alec's behalf that he had managed to push James to his limit, to not only force him to kill, but to force him to admit that this was personal.

Even in his dying moments Alec hadn't been able to resist taunting James.

Ashleigh sighed. James had been her rock, albeit it a somewhat absent one for so many years. She had forgiven him so many things, from the broken promises that he would attend sports matches she was participating in during her school years, to him bedding her prettiest lecturer straight after her graduation from university.

Now she was in need of help, and she knew just who to turn to.

It would also annoy Jasmin, and that in itself had a certain appeal.

* * *

Jasmin smiled. The hut was perfect. From its close proximity to the beach, to the beautiful, mainly wooden furniture inside, it was a perfect retreat. It was, she thought to herself, a shame then that this was business. She cast a longing glance at the double hammock swaying gently on the porch, and let her thoughts wander back to James. She sighed softly, and thought of future occasions.

She was interrupted from her deliberations by Ashleigh pushing past, and not too gently either. Ashleigh took the briefest glance around, and then shot through a door on the other side of the room.

The door slammed behind her. Jasmin winced. For this favour, James owed her.

He owed her a lot.

* * *

Safely ensconced inside the bedroom, Ashleigh immediately pulled a small, silver laptop from its carry case. Within seconds she had it up and running, carefully balanced upon the bed covers.

'Requesting secure visual connection and transmission.'

An automated, mechanical voice answered her, disjointed and impersonal. 'Confirmed. State name of contact and security level.'

'007. James Bond. Requesting highest level of security.'

'Authorised.'

There was a brief flash from the screen, and suddenly, a clear link was created straight into James's office back at MI6.

'You made it safely then?'

'Yes.'

'Both of you?'

Ashleigh scowled, and slumped into a nearby arm chair. 'Yes. Both of us.'

'Where's Van Dien?'

'In the other room.'

'Does she know you're talking to me?'

'No. Do you want me to pass on a message?' Ashleigh said pointedly.

'No.' James looked discomfited, even on the satellite link. 'How long are you underground for?'

Ashleigh winced. 'Underground' was a term that the agents employed loosely, a period of time essentially spent in hiding once having arrived in a new location. The idea was to stay below the radar and to observe only, all the time waiting to hear if their arrival had been noted. 'Twenty four hours minimum. We're allowed access to the beach and immediate grounds only.' She pushed her hand through her hair and took a shaky breath. 'Twenty four hours, James. Twenty four bloody hours. I could be out there now, looking, trying to find out anything.'

'You know the reasoning behind it.'

'Yes, I do. But I also know that …' Ashleigh paused, before running her hand over her eyes, a tired, almost defeated gesture. 'But I also know that the more time that passes, the less likely it is that Natasha will be found.'

'We'll find her, Ashleigh. Of course we will.'

Her eyes were dark. 'I meant alive. The less likely it will be she'll found alive.'

Even thousands of miles away James felt a chill of apprehension travel down his spine. 'Don't be ridiculous. There are people searching everywhere for your daughter.' His tone was not unkind.

'Really? All these people helping me, and I've yet to see anything of them. Charles tells me that there'll be information at a party in Paris, and he nearly dies. Three shots, James. There were three shots fired. You were there. Did you fire back? Is that the third shot I heard?'

The pause was a fraction too long.

'You didn't did you?'

'No.'

Ashleigh put her head in her hands. 'So what exactly are you doing to help me?'

The desolation in her voice was plain to hear. James felt a momentary flicker of guilt.

'Everything I can, Ashleigh, as is everyone around you if you would be willing to open your eyes and see that,' James said coldly. 'Charles nearly paid with his life for helping you.'

'I know, I know.'

'M's reputation is on the line. The realisation that she has covered up the existence of a known villain has not gone down particularly well with her deputies. They think it's a clear sign of weakness, and they've been looking for that sign in M ever since she started. She wants to find your husband almost as much as you do. If only to bury him again.'

'As for me, well, I've encouraged you as much as I can. M wants me off this case, thinks I'll jeopardise it if I hang around too long. I'm doing all I can here, and Jasmin will support you as much as she can. Talk to her, Ashleigh, I mean it. She's there to help, not hinder you. As for me, M has other work for me, and unfortunately, this time I can't refuse, and I can't be there for you, as much as I want to be.'

She looked stricken. 'But James, I need you.'

'I know. I am sorry. Speak to Jasmin. She'll explain all she can.' He leant forward in his seat. 'There is one thing I can tell you though. If you get into any sort of situation with the Americans, ask to see the Rose.'

'The what?' Ashleigh looked confused.

'The Rose. Remember that.'

Before Ashleigh could say anything else, she saw James lean forward and tap a few keys on the keyboard in front of him. He glanced up one last time and spoke clearly to the computer.

'Ending visual link. Terminating connection.'

James vanished from the screen.

Ashleigh froze. For a few moments she stared at the blank screen, fighting back the urge to scream. She realised that she was shaking.

James had left her. Charles, in their goodbyes had been just as decisive, he would help as much as he could from his recuperative position, but he was limited in what he could do.

There was no one to help her. No one at all. Only Jasmin.

Ashleigh groaned.

* * *

In England, in his underused office in the MI6 building, James stared at an equally blank screen, a scowl on his face.

'I have work for you, do I?'

He started slightly, and turned to see M standing in the doorway of his office. He must have been distracted not to hear her open the door.

'You're a lying bastard, James.'

With that she turned on her heel and stalked off down the corridor.

For the first time in a long time, James Bond felt ashamed.


	19. Chapter Eighteen

**Nearly six years earlier.**

The single cry woke Ashleigh up from the deepest sleep she'd had in weeks. She threw the bed covers from her, and was half way to her feet before she realised that the crying had already stopped. Groggily, she paused, slumping back to the thick, cushioning pillows, relishing their soft support. She was so tired. Her body had never ached so much, and she was beginning to wonder if she would ever recover from this experience. Other women had, and with so much ease, yet three days after her daughter's birth, Ashleigh was still struggling to stand up without thinking that she was going to faint.

The birth had not been easy. Ashleigh had been frightened, and the pain had been far more unbearable than she had expected. She had heard whispered talks of caesarean sections, breech positions, and hushed requests for blood to be available in case the worse came to the worse.

In the end, her daughter had come quietly into the world, with a final, almighty push from Ashleigh, an action she had been convinced would kill her. But it hadn't, and the nurses and midwives had smiled at her, and congratulated her, and had seemed delighted at the arrival of a such a sweet little child. The girl had been cleaned up quickly, and handed to her proud father with a deferring speed. Ashleigh had lain there, exhausted, desperate for a glimpse of her child while Alec had stared at his own flesh and blood as if astonished that he could have had a hand in producing such a miracle.

They had finally released her from the hospital yesterday, telling her the birth had been far easier than they had first thought, and that she should enjoy motherhood. Ashleigh wish she could, but so far, she had felt nothing but terror.

And failure.

Her daughter was a quiet, calm baby until she was placed anywhere near her mother. Then she just cried until the nurse, or Alec, took her away and calmed her. She had tried to feed her but the baby girl wouldn't latch on, and when she finally did Ashleigh had felt nothing but pain. As the baby grew hungrier it was clear that she would have to be bottle fed, and Ashleigh had felt even more like a failure.

Now they were back in their own home, miles away from any sort of assistance, and Ashleigh was getting more anxious. She wanted to do nothing but sleep, and at least Alec understood that. To be fair to him he was being sympathetic to her, it was just that he seemed absolutely fascinated with his new daughter.

Ashleigh glanced around her. Their bedroom was lit by soft lamps, throwing shadows into the corners of the room. She was alone in her bed, but the rumpled bed clothes on the other side suggested that Alec had been there. She gingerly began to get to her feet, wincing as the familiar pains deep within her started up. Even her breasts hurt, and there was nothing she could do about it.

She padded barefoot across the room, savouring the fact that she could actually see her feet again. Her body was already beginning to bounce back into shape, but she missed the comforting weight of her child inside her. But there was no time to dwell on that, no, now she had to focus on the child she so desperately wanted to love, a child who should be sleeping in the adjoining room next door.

She leant on the door frame, taking in the sight before her. Alec was already in the room, leaning over the high wooden cot where their daughter was sleepily looking up at him. He was dressed for bed in a pair of dark pyjama bottoms, his chest bare. From this angle his scars were visible, creeping down the side of his body. She moved carefully into the room, deliberately moving to his unscarred side, and slid an arm around his warm naked waist, curling her hand around until she could feel the hard muscle of his stomach.

'You should be sleeping,' he growled softly into her hair, but he matched her gesture, his arm gently encircling her tender body. She leant into him, enjoying the heat from his naked skin.

'I heard her crying,' she murmured back.

'She's quiet now. I think she wanted some attention.'

'Making demands already? I can see she's going to take after you,' the words were said lightly, and with humour, but Ashleigh still held her breath, waiting for anger from Alec. To her surprise, she heard a low laugh, and she dared to take her eyes away from her daughter for a moment.

'I hope she does,' Alec reached down into the cot, and picked up the child from where she was lying. He carefully supported her, letting her rest against his chest, and against her will Ashleigh felt a flicker of jealousy that fatherhood came so easily to Alec. Once more his attention had been diverted from her, and onto his daughter instead. She swallowed hard, trying to force down the horrible feeling of jealousy that swamped her whenever she saw her husband and her daughter together. It was wrong, surely to feel like this must be wrong?

But Ashleigh had no one to ask, no one to talk to about her fears. Once more she felt the heavy oppression of her isolation, and realised how desperately she longed for company. Female company.

More than anything she wanted her own mother. The feeling was acute, she desperately wished she could ask her own mother for advice, but her mother had been dead for over twenty years. Emma Kain would never see her granddaughter, in fact, Ashleigh's baby daughter would never know any of her grandparents.

Ashleigh sighed again. She was getting maudlin again, and she made a silent vow to herself that she would get through this. There was no point on focusing on the family that she and Alec had lost, instead she should focus on her family here, in front of her. She curled back against Alec, one hand reaching to stroke the mop of dark hair that covered her daughter's head. Sleepily, the child opened her still blue eyes and looked at her mother, blinking slowly. The pouting mouth opened, and Ashleigh tensed, expecting the crying to start again but instead her daughter merely yawned.

Alec felt his Ashleigh's body tense next to him, and he knew that she was terrified. His wife was a proud., stubborn woman with a temper to rival his own, fiercely independent and unable to take criticism from anyone, especially him. He knew that motherhood was difficult for her, and their daughter appeared to be taking after both of them when it came to stubbornness and simply refused to settle for her mother. Carefully, he lifted the baby from his chest, and passed her to Ashleigh.

Ashleigh froze, her daughter an awkward shape in her arms. She watched as her daughter clenched her tiny fists and gave a pitiful wave in protest at being removed from her father's warm skin.

'Hold her,' Alec said softly, and gently he moved Ashleigh's arms into a more supportive position. The baby gave one small cry, and then realising she was once more safe and warm, settled down against her mother. Ashleigh looked down in disbelief, feeling the comforting weight of her daughter, smelling the soft sweet smell that surrounded her, and finally, finally, something clicked inside her. She could do this. She had saved the world once, she could be a mother she thought, allowing herself a small smile.

Alec stepped behind Ashleigh, wrapping his arms around his wife and child. Ashleigh leant back against him, and was rewarded with a tender kiss to her throat. Alec ran a hand over his wife's untidy hair, brushing a stray lock behind her ear. 'I thought of a name for her,' he whispered in her ear.

'Have you?' Ashleigh asked, surprised. The name of their daughter had so far eluded them, with neither able to agree on anything that they both liked. Instead they had decided that they would wait and see if a suitable name presented itself.

'Natasha.'

Natasha. Ashleigh smiled. Russian enough for her to like it, English enough for it to appeal to Alec.

'What does it mean?'

'Christmas child,' Alec smiled.

Ashleigh nodded. 'Natasha it is then, Natasha Trevelyan.'

They stood there for some time, the newly named Natasha contentedly asleep in Ashleigh's arms, and Ashleigh feeling equally content in Alec's. Suddenly Alec tilted his head towards the window.

'What?' Ashleigh asked fearfully, wondering what on earth he had heard.

'Listen,' Alec smiled.

In the distance, above the December wind, Ashleigh could hear the faint peel of bells, a joyous peel, followed by twelve steady chimes. 'I'd forgotten,' she admitted.

'I hadn't,' Alec wrapped his arms tighter around her body, one hand resting tenderly on his daughter's sleeping back. 'Merry Christmas.'

'Merry Christmas,' Ashleigh turned to face him, and as his mouth found hers, she said a silent prayer of thanks for the family that fate had given her. This Christmas would be a stalk contrast to the loneliness and devastation of the year before when she had feared she had lost him forever. Now she was here, with Alec and Natasha, and she knew their future was safe.

Cradled between her parents' bodies, Natasha Trevelyan slept peacefully on, blissfully unaware of anything except the sweetness of her dreams and the love surrounding her.

It would be the life she would know for the next six years.

* * *

Natasha Trevelyan was running. She was running faster than she had ever ran in her life. She couldn't get caught, if they caught her they would throw her back into that room, and then she would never get out again.

She dashed down corridors, all looking the same as the one before, hearing the voices shouting behind her, hearing the heavy footsteps of the men chasing her, voices and footfalls that seemed to be getting ever closer.

She was tired, and breathless, she seemed to have been running forever. Her time spent confined in the small room had drained her natural energy, and the girl who had been brought up in brilliant sunshine next to a cobalt sea had not fared well being inside for so long.

She had been watching them for days, noting the pattern and routines of her day. When the man brought her clean clothes, or fresh linen for her bed. What time they brought her food at. Even when the man who wanted her to call him Grandfather would come to see her. He always came at the same time, and she would listen out for his steps in the corridor outside and prepare herself to be strong while he tried to coerce her into friendliness.

The man who brought her fresh bed linen had grown lax. He had been cautious at first, careful not to leave the door open, making sure it was locked behind him, making sure he could see her at all times, even when he was smoothing the bed sheet down into the corners. But she had always sat so still, always seemed so lifeless and unanimated that he had relaxed, even occasionally chatting to her as he worked.

It had been two weeks ago that she had noticed that he didn't lock the door. She had watched carefully, each time making sure to be as bland and childlike as possible, and she had seen that on the next four occasions he had neglected to lock it as well.

He had been reaching down to tuck the corner of the sheet into the far side of the bed when she had pushed him - a sharp, quick jolt to his back that had sent the already off balance man head first into the wall. Natasha had been surprised at how easily he had fallen, and she had nearly stopped dead at the shock of this. At the last moment she had realised she had her opportunity and had dashed out of the door.

She had no idea where she was going, in her mind she had never got further than the door, and now the never ending identical corridors where beginning to confuse her. She couldn't remember where she had been, it was all the same, and she felt tears of frustration beginning to prick at her eyes even as she ran.

She came to a T junction of two corridors and skidded to a halt. Right or left, she thought frantically, this way or that. There was no time to think, the voices were getting louder, and so she darted down the corridor to her left.

She realised her mistake almost immediately. The corridor was a dead end. She turned, ready to dive in the other direction, but suddenly, they were there, blocking her way, men in the same military like uniforms, some with weapons, guns that frightened her so much.

Instinct took over, her body demanded either flight or fight, and as running was out of the option, her body slipped into fight mode. Her small fists clenched by her side, she backed up until she was close to the wall, instinctively making sure that no one could get behind her. She even bared her small white even teeth.

One man laughed, and said something in Russian that she didn't quite understand. Her parents had taught her Russian from an early age and she spoke it well, but the comment was too adult for her to understand. She knew that he was laughing at her though, and that made Natasha angry.

A man grabbed at her, and she skipped easily out of the way, lashing out with her foot as she did so, her small boot clipping the man sharply on the ankle. He cursed and tried again, more viciously this time, trying to catch a handful of her long dark plait.

'Enough.'

The deep voice made every man stand to attention, and Natasha knew that the man was coming, Le Loup the men called him, and Natasha had started to think of him as that in her mind. She had no other name to call him, and she would not call him Grandfather.

'Hurt her, and you're a dead man' he ordered, sweeping through the gathered throng. He glanced disdainfully around. 'Ten men to one girl, and by the looks of it, she's got the better of you,' he snarled. The men looked abashed, but defiant. One man took the challenge to heart, and lunged for Natasha, and grabbed her by the arm, dragging her towards the group.

'Let her go. Now!' Merkalov dove at the man, grabbing him by the lapels and slamming him against the nearest wall. 'No one touches her. Do you hear me? No one. No one is to touch her, no one is to hurt her.'

He let go of the man who slid slowly down the wall. Merkalov shoved a boot into the battered man's ribs for good measure.

'You all know who her father is,' Merkalov addressed the men, almost conversationally. 'Do any of you want to face him if he finds out you've hurt his daughter?'

There was an almost imperceptible mass shaking of heads.

'I didn't think so. So unless any man wants an exceptionally painful death, I suggest you remember that this girl is not, I repeat, not to be harmed. Not one hair on her head, and believe me, I'll know. I'll know if any of you scum touch her.'

The men nodded.

Merkalov held his hand out to Natasha. 'Come here, darling. There's no need to be frightened, no one is angry with you.'

He wasn't angry. He was more amused by the spirit she had shown, but then he didn't expect anything else from a Trevelyan.

'No.' Natasha lifted her chin stubbornly.

'Come here.'

'No.' This time she only just managed to stop herself sticking her tongue out at him.

Merkalov glared at the little girl, who stared back with those cool, haughty eyes. The look was far too adult for a young child, calmly appraising, and finding what she saw seriously lacking.

It was Alec's look, in his daughter's face and it completely unnerved Merkalov.

'Now.' It was an order. And one that was expected to be obeyed.

Natasha shook her head. She folded her arms across her chest.

He stalked towards her, his height towering over the small girl. Still she looked coolly up at him. He stretched out a hand towards her.

And she sank her teeth into it.

She could taste blood in her mouth, and it disgusted her, but still she held on, her jaw locking tight, even as she felt the men trying to physically pull her off their leader. Merkalov was shaking his hand, try to dislodge but she wrapped her hands around his wrist and fingers, and sank her teeth in deeper until he howled with pain.

Finally the combined effort of the shaking, and the men pulling at her waist and ankles was too much for her young jaw, and Natasha let them pull her off, her teeth tearing a chunk of flesh from Merkalov's hand. They restrained her back, and she stared at up the huge, bear like man who's blood dripped from her chin, giving her a grotesque vampiric look. It was even smeared on her teeth.

She had given him a message, and a very clear one at that.

You don't mess with a Trevelyan.

Even if they were only five years old.


	20. Chapter Nineteen

Jamsin Van Dien lay back in the comfortable chair and felt the heat of the Cuban sun on her body. The left strap of her white sundress had slipped off her shoulder, highlighting the smooth skin. She idly flicked it back up, and adjusted her sunglasses. This was good, she thought, letting the rays of the sun caress her, very good.

She glanced up, watching the progress of the figure on the other end of the beach. Ashleigh had slipped past her twenty minutes ago, and Jasmin had been surprised to see her dressed for running.

'Are you mad?' she had asked. 'Its far too hot.'

'I know,' Ashleigh had crouched to tighten the laces of her running shoes.

'You can't run now,' Jasmin had argued. 'You'll kill yourself.'

Ashleigh had simply looked at her with tired eyes. 'I have to,' she said. 'I can't sit here a moment longer doing nothing.'

'Fine,' Jasmin had shrugged. If the other woman was set on a case of heat exhaustion, who was she to stop her? She had been furious at the stupidity of the silly cow, and had been determinedly avoiding checking on her progress along the beach. Jasmin sighed, and fumbled beneath the chair for the glass of iced water that she left there.

It was late afternoon on their second day there and soon, soon, they would be progressing with this blasted case. For now, Jasmin just wanted to enjoy herself, and take the opportunity to have a well earned rest.

Unlike Ashleigh. Jasmin shielded her eyes with her hand and squinted along the beach. She could just make out Ashleigh nearing the headland that marked the boundary of the private beach. She was still upright, that was one good thing, Jasmin supposed, and with that thought, she pulled her sunglasses back onto the bridge of her nose and closed her eyes.

* * *

Ashleigh forced herself forward, trying to ignore the moisture that was beginning to trickle down her spine. Her entire body was uncomfortably damp and hot, her hair was plastered to her head and she was wiping the sweat from her eyes every couple of steps. She had reached the headland, a small jutting outcrop of rock that forced its way into the aqua coloured sea creating a natural boundary and had allowed herself the briefest rest, enough to let her breathing drop to something relatively close to normal.

And then she had set off back for the hut.

She had to physically dig her feet into the sand to maintain her balance. Running on sand was incredibly demanding, but Ashleigh was used to it. Every day at home she would set off down the beach that surrounded her home, and that exercise had kept her toned and fit despite her otherwise sedate lifestyle. It was hard to explain the way the sand would shift beneath her feet, forcing her muscles to compensate for the movement, how pushing forward for the next step would take twice the normal effort of running on a solid surface. It was phenomenally hard work, but Ashleigh had always thrived on hard work.

Normally, the heat didn't bother her, although it had taken a year for her body to adjust to Sicily's far more temperate climes after a quarter of a century worth of English winters. Nothing compared to December in London, with the slush and the fog, and the perpetual dampness in the air. However, the heat in the Mediterranean was dry and soothing, whereas here in Cuba, she felt as if she was running through a fine mist of tropical heat.

But if she ran, she didn't have to think. She just focused on the pain on her calves and let her heart beat drown out all other thoughts until she felt nothing but exhaustion.

Ashleigh swiped at her eyes again as she continued her run steadily, determinedly. But she wasn't sure if it was sweat or tears that she was wiping away.

* * *

Jasmin woke from her doze suddenly, as a shadow fell across her. Sitting up, she pushed the sunglasses to the top of her head, and glanced up at Ashleigh.

'Enjoying your rest?' Ashleigh asked so icily that Jasmin nearly shivered despite the heat.

Jasmin decided that arguing was not the best way forward, and instead leaned forward and poured a glass of water. 'Here,' she handed it to Ashleigh, who gulped at it thirstily before collapsing onto a nearby chair. She was coated in sweat, her cheeks flushed, and Jasmin noticed a small wince as Ashleigh pulled off her left trainer.

She was a woman punishing herself, Jasmin decided, but now was not the time to comment on that. Later, perhaps, let her relax first.

'I need a shower,' Ashleigh muttered, grimacing as she ran a hand through her gritty, damp hair.

'Why don't you take a swim instead?' Jasmin suggested, gesturing towards the sea. 'It looks wonderful out there.'

Slowly Ashleigh turned her head towards the aquamarine water, and for the briefest moment, Jasmin saw a dark look flicker across her face. 'No,' Ashleigh shook her head. 'But thank you for the water.' The words came slowly, uncertainly, and Jasmin frowned.

'Come out when you've finished,' she leant forward to put a hand on Ashleigh's arm, but stopped when Ashleigh pulled away slightly. It was the faintest movement, but Jasmin noticed it, and checked the gesture. 'I have some white wine chilling in the fridge, you look like you could do with a drink,' she cajoled.

Ashleigh looked at her wearily, but gave a brisk, short nod all the same. 'Ok.'

'I'll get the glasses ready,' Jasmin smiled.

* * *

Twenty minutes later, Ashleigh stepped out onto the decking once more. Her hair was still wet from the shower, and she was dressed simply in a white camisole and grey tailored knee length shorts. Jasmin smiled companionably at her, and handed her a large glass of wine. Ashleigh looked at it uncertainly, but took it all the same. She didn't drink though.

'I thought I'd let you enjoy a few glasses first, before I slipped the arsenic in. It's the third glass you'll want to watch,' Jasmin joked, pointedly sipping at her own. James has asked to her to try to get Ashleigh to open up, and she was determined to do it, even if it meant getting the other woman rip roaringly plastered.

A faint smiled tugged at the corner of Ashleigh's mouth, and Jasmin nearly sighed with relief. At last, the Ice Queen was defrosting.. This seemed to be confirmed when Ashleigh lifted the glass to her lips and took a large slug of the icy cold liquid.

'Steady,' Jasmin laughed, and sedately sipped at her own drink.

Ashleigh leant back into her seat, enjoying the feeling as the alcohol worked its way through her veins, warming her from deep within. She wasn't a big drinker, the occasional glass of wine with dinner, sometimes she and Alec would sit with iced vodka and just talk. Her hand tightened on the glass as she thought of Alec. The way he would smile at her as he passed the glass to her, how he would close his eyes after his first sip and smile slowly as the vodka took effect. How they would talk about anything and everything, slowly creeping closer to each other until Alec would take the glass from her, then slide his chilled hand around the back of her neck and pull her close until he could press his mouth on hers. She would be able to taste the vodka on his lips, sharp and icy, and she was never quite sure which was more intoxicating, the vodka, or Alec's kiss. She would simply press back closer and lose herself in both.

Ashleigh's hand was shaking as she placed the wine glass down. Jasmin raised an eyebrow at the clash of glass on glass, but said nothing, silently inviting.

'So tell me why you, James and the rest of MI6 insisted that I come out here?' Ashleigh said, hoping her tone was casual.

'This is my third time here,' Jasmin admitted, reaching for the wine bottle. 'James wanted you to see the location of the Goldeneye satellite. The remains of it, anyway.'

Ashleigh felt a chill travel down her spine. 'Why?'

'Because it was your husband's grand scheme, Ashleigh,' Jasmin said softly, and there was more than a hint of sympathy in her voice. 'If you want to understand him, you need to see this.'

'What makes you think I don't understand Alec?' Ashleigh asked snippily.

'Does anyone?' Jasmin sipped her wine. 'Just because you're married to him, doesn't mean you know everything about him. Does he know everything about you? Do you have any deep dark secrets that you're keeping from him?'

To Jasmin's surprise, Ashleigh blushed deeply, and toyed with her own wine glass. 'There are secrets in every relationship, especially when you're in our business. I'm surprised that spies, former spies, agents, ever manage to have a conversation, we're all so trained to keep our mouths shut at all times.'

Jasmin laughed. 'Absolutely.'

'So what about you? Do you have any secrets?'

'Me?' Jasmin laughed again, a silvery sound that grated slightly on Ashleigh's fragile nerves. She could understand why men would find it attractive though. She squinted slightly at the olive skinned woman. Yes, she could understand why men would certainly find her attractive.

'I try not to have too many secrets,' Jasmin smiled. 'Keeping my work life secret is hard enough work, I don't want to have to do that with my personal life as well. That's why its so nice being with James. He knows what I do, I know who he is and what he does, and we get along very nicely because of it.'

'How long have you actually know each other for now?' Ashleigh asked.

Jasmin blushed, the first time Ashleigh had noticed her do this. 'Not long. Sorry, I think I was gushing a bit there. Its just that, well, I know he's your uncle, but I really like him.'

'Godfather.' Ashleigh managed to restrain herself from biting into the edge of her glass.

'Sorry?'

'James is my godfather, not my uncle.'

'Oh! Oh, I am sorry. I just presumed…'

'Jasmin, do you know anything about my past?'

'Enough.'

'Really?'

Jasmin shifted in her chair. 'Slip of the tongue. That's all.'

'It just makes me wonder.'

'Wonder what?'

'If you can get confused with my past, what on earth do you think of my present?'

'It was just a slip of the tongue,' Jasmin snapped, and Ashleigh smiled, pleased to have riled the other woman so easily.

It was time for a change of subject. For a few moments, Ashleigh watched as the sun crept behind one of the low clouds on the horizon, gathering her courage to ask.

'What do you know about my husband?'

'What do you mean?'

'What do you know? What have you studied? Have you looked at his crimes, or the man himself? What makes you an expert on Alec Trevelyan?'

Jasmin picked up the bottle of wine and poured herself another glass. 'The normal things. His defection, his faked execution, his links with the Cossacks, his parents, the Janus Crime Syndicate. Goldeneye.'

'When did you find out he was alive?'

'M informed me. After the… after your attack. She knew I had written several dossiers on him, and his actions, and she interviewed me extensively on my knowledge. Only afterwards did she tell me he was actually alive. I was surprised, to say the least. Even more surprised to discover he'd persuaded a British spy to marry him.'

'Alec can be very persuasive when he wants to be. Did you know that?'

'Its in his profile,' Jasmin snapped back. 'Most megalomaniacs are, its how they convince their minions to do their dirty work.'

'I met Alec when I was a child,' Ashleigh said quietly, staring into the depths of her glass. 'I met him while he was still the golden boy of MI6, the revered 006.'

'Really?' Jasmin looked interested, and surprised. 'I didn't know that.'

'My father, David, was his best friend. James's too. I can remember Alec sitting in my father's study smoking a cigar, I can remember him laughing and smiling with my dad, and I can still remember the joy I felt when he noticed me. A silly crush. That's how all this started.'

Jasmin stayed silent, sensing that Ashleigh was finally opening up.

'When I heard he'd died, I was upset. And then my father died, nine months later, and I forgot about Alec. When I joined MI6 I learnt the same things that you did. The traitor. Betrayer. Its one thing to betray your country, another thing to betray your organisation. I was just so grateful that my father never knew.

And then, suddenly, I was in St Petersburg. One minute I was running for my life, the next I was waking up in a strange room looking at Alec Trevelyan. In that moment my life changed. It seemed like everything I had ever known was a lie, and the truth was staring me in the face, taunting me.'

'You fell in love with him?'

'Love? God, no. Lust, yes. There is a difference, Jasmin, I'm sure you understand that.'

Ashleigh looked up with dark eyes. 'I gave up everything for Alec Trevelyan. I swapped my career for a life spent transcribing documents and looking after my daughter. I've spent weeks not knowing exactly what Alec is doing. I've learnt that sometimes you don't ask questions when you see new bruises, or when they walk in the door unexpectedly with no apology. Alec Trevelyan is a very easy man to understand, Jasmin. He wants power and respect. He wanted a family, I gave him that. His work gives him the power and respect, even if I don't exactly know how. I love him, and it took me a long time to admit that, but I don't think I'll ever understand him. Ever. No matter how hard I try.'

Jasmin waited, sensing there was more to come. Ashleigh leant forward, putting her hands onto the table. 'Loving a 00 agent is difficult Jasmin. If you think James will settle down for you then you're wrong. James will only settle down when he's ready to. He tried it once, I'm sure you've heard about his wife. He was devastated by her murder. If you want him, you have to accept him on his terms and with his rules. It sounds like feminist crap, but its not. Its common sense. James Bond is a man used to pleasing himself, and he's not about to change that because he's getting his leg over. There are too many women who can testify to that. You're not an exclusive Jasmin, if you want him you have to be cleverer, wittier, and more detached than all the rest.'

'I'll remember that,' Jasmin said, with more than a trace of sarcasm. She reached for another bottle of wine that she had tucked under her seat in the shade, and wondered just how much damage a corkscrew could do.

'Good. James always thinks he falls in love. He always thinks that this time will be different. I've experienced James's charm since I was a girl. When he decided to be a good godfather, I couldn't have asked for more. Gifts, outings, when I was sixteen he'd pick me up from school and take me to the city. We'd eat out, go to the theatre, he'd give me amazing outfits to wear to these events. James is a charmer. He made me feel like the most beautiful woman on the planet, and I was just his teenage goddaughter. I can't imagine how it must be to be his lover. But James will only settle down when he's ready to. You won't be able to change him, you just have to enjoy the ride.'

'Is that what you're doing with Alec?'

'Hardly,' Ashleigh snorted. 'Alec is a charmer like James, but with Alec, in the beginning, I'd never know if he was about to kiss me or kill me. He got under my skin, as I did to him. He was my drug, I couldn't get enough of him, although I knew it was wrong. When M found out, I half expected her to forbid me from ever seeing him again. To my surprise, it was the opposite, I actually thought she was mellowing in her old age, but I've since learnt that M only does what's good for M. That's a lesson that every spy entering MI6 should learn straight away.'

'And what about Natasha?'

For a moment Jasmin thought Ashleigh wasn't going to reply. Finally, after a deep breath, Ashleigh answered.

'When Natasha was born, I was terrified. I couldn't do anything right, and I had no support at all. Every day was a battle to learn how to be a mother and all the time Alec would swan in and get everything right. Tash is amazing. I look at her and wonder how she can be mine. I guess I sound like any other mother spouting on about their child, but Tash really is different. She has a calmness in her that I have no idea where she gets it from, she's intelligent, she's so intelligent it scares me at times. She picks ideas up so quickly. We decided that she should learn a bit of Russian, obviously because of Alec's heritage, and she's almost fluent. She speaks it better than I do. ' Ashleigh shook her head. 'She's stubborn too, that's her worst trait. Can't blame her though, she's gets that from both of us. She's the most important thing in the world to both Alec and I, and whoever took her knew that. Now, whatever you may think of Alec, hell, whatever you may think of me, just remember that there is a little girl involved in this. I never wanted my daughter to know fear, I never wanted my daughter to feel alone in the world, and yet I have know idea where she is, or what is happening to her. But you should know as well as I do that it's the innocent who suffer when it comes to our game. Always has been, always will be. I just want to find her before she suffers too much.'

'And you think that Alec knows where she is?'

'Perhaps,' Ashleigh sounded unsure. 'I wonder if perhaps his hands are tied, that he may be being used, and that his obedience is all that safeguards Natasha. I need him to confirm that to me, I need him to reassure me that he is as helpless in all this as I am.'

'And if he's not…' Jasmin let the words trail off.

'Then God help him,' Ashleigh said softly. 'Because if I have to kill him to save my daughter then I will.'

'Are you sure about that?' to Jasmin it sounded more like bravado, strong words to disguise indecisiveness.

'Its not a choice I ever want to make.'

The sun had slipped ever lower, casting an orange glow over the evening. The clouds gathered on the horizon had turned from white to vivid shades of purple, the sun itself was a huge disc creeping below the horizon. Jasmin reached for the near empty bottle of wine, and realised that she had drank most of it herself. Ashleigh's glass was still half full. Jasmin gestured with the bottle and Ashleigh shook her head.

'I have a headache,' Ashleigh mumbled. 'Too much sun, I think.'

The intimacy had gone, Jasmin realised that straight away. The woman who had opened up had once more retreated behind her cool façade, and was lost in her own thoughts. Jasmin topped up her own glass and leant back in the chair. 'Why don't you go to bed? We have an early start in the morning, and I need you with a clear head.'

'Are you sure your own will be clear?' Ashleigh mocked, noting the two empty bottles of wine.

'I'll be right as rain.' Jasmin assured her. 'I hope you packed your fins, Agent Kain. We'll be doing a spot of scuba diving tomorrow.'

'Will we indeed?' Ashleigh's smile seemed forced.

'Oh yes. I want to show you something very interesting .'

The pounding in Ashleigh's head suddenly reached a crescendo. Feeling very dizzy all of a sudden, she reached out for the door frame to support herself. 'Good night, Jasmin,' she said faintly.

'Goodnight.'


	21. Chapter Twenty

Dear all, why do I always seem to start chapters with an apology? Exams have been getting in the way for the past six weeks, BUT I have managed to get five chapters ahead of this since finishing my last exam earlier in the week. I think I went slightly mad!

Second apology - there is a lot of diving terminology in this chapter, I've been diving for a few years and I couldn't leave it out - its a passion for me.

Enjoy, and updates will be more frequent. I promise. Seriously. Will write for compliments.

* * *

The next day, the two women were up and about early. Jasmin focused on getting ready, enjoying the heat that seemed to trouble Ashleigh so much. Outside the secluded beach hut, a vehicle had been delivered for them, now waiting patiently to be loaded and used. Ashleigh stumbled out of the hut, her skin tinged with green under her tan, dark shadows in the hollows under her eyes. Jasmin looked again, Ashleigh did not look right. The normally slightly spiky dark hair hung limply, as if Ashleigh hadn't had the strength to wash it that morning, the dark eyes that usually had a knowing sparkle in them were dull and lifeless. Jasmin tossed her own lustrous dark hair over her shoulder and revelled in her ability to drink anyone under the table. However, something had to be said.

'Are you alright?' Jasmin finally asked, glancing over at Ashleigh.

Ashleigh nodded feebly. She leant against the side of the black four by four vehicle and pressed the back of her hand to her mouth. The nausea rose up inside her once more and she retched, ducking around the side of the car before she embarrassed herself.

'I thought it would be me with the hangover this morning,' Jasmin called out sympathetically.

'Why was I so stupid to run in this heat?' Ashleigh muttered, coming back into view.

Punishing yourself? Jasmin asked herself mentally but decided that discretion would be the better part of valour. She gave a small, understanding smile instead.

'Is there any water handy?' Ashleigh begged. The heat was already causing her head to pound, she hated this wet, cloying heat, it gave her another bloody reason to get off this cursed island.

'In the back,' Jasmin gestured. 'You've probably got a touch of heat exhaustion.'

'Probably.' Ashleigh fumbled with the screw cap of the two litre bottle.

In fact, Ashleigh had only managed two hours sleep the night before. She had lain awake in the heat, hating the sound of the sea lapping against the beach outside, hating the smell of the tropical flowers that grew outside the shuttered windows. She had been hot one moment, sweating in the heat, kicking the sheets away from her drenched body, freezing cold the next, shivering against the night. When she had slept, her dreams had been terrifying vivid, all of them involving Alec, most of them involving death. Now she watched as Jasmin lugged the heavy equipment from the small shed it had been stored in, and set about organising it into small piles, making sure every eventuality was covered.

Ashleigh was feeling sicker with every moment that passed.

'Are you okay to give me a hand with the canisters?' Jasmin struggled to pick up one of the larger, heavy gas tanks.

'Sure,' Ashleigh swallowed a mouthful of water. This time it stayed down, just.

She reached down, and grabbed at one of the canisters, using the taps at the top for leverage. Swinging around, she almost threw it into the back of the 4x4.

'Careful! We need all of them,' Jasmin cautioned.

'What exactly are we using this for?' Ashleigh asked.

'Oh, just a little diving trip. I'll explain more when we get there.'

Finally the equipment was loaded. Ashleigh stared at the motley assortment of compressed air tanks, fins, wetsuits and masks and felt the gorge rise in her once more.

She was not looking forward to this. This hadn't been in her gameplan at all.

* * *

The 4x4 bounced through the rough terrain. Ashleigh grabbed at the handle above her head and held on for dear life as Jasmin expertly avoided the large tree that had suddenly appeared in front of them.

'When James and Natalya came this way, they used a light aircraft,' Jasmin shouted above the noise of the engine and the sound of the tyres ripping away at the terrain. 'Unfortunately, Janus pre-empted this and blew them out of the sky. James managed to negotiate the plane to safety and they landed somewhere in this bloody rainforest.'

Ashleigh nodded, wondering if she was going to be sick again. She had noticeably flinched at the use of Alec's alter ego's name, but had discovered that as long as Jasmin referred to him as Janus, Ashleigh was able to cope with the idea of it. 'Natalya?' she asked.

'Natalya Simonova,' Jasmin replied, never taking her eyes off the road. 'Russian computer expert. Managed to mess around with the systems enough to completely muck everything up. Also came to James's rescue just in time with a handy helicopter.'

Ashleigh nodded, recalling the pictures she had seen of the attractive red head. 'What happened to her?'

Jasmin shrugged. 'Still works with computers, I think. Based in the US, makes a healthy living selling Russian secrets to the Americans. Keeps a low profile. Understandable really.'

'Absolutely.'

Ashleigh watched Jasmin's face curiously, wondering if she would see any reaction to any mention of an ex of James's but to her credit, Jasmin's features remained expressively neutral. Natalya Simonova. Another woman James had claimed to have loved. Perhaps he had. Perhaps she had had a chance of holding onto the handsome spy, she had certainly intrigued him. Extremely intelligent, with model looks and an innate sense of survival, she had caught James's interest from the moment she had climbed from the wreck of the satellite dish and her escape had been transmitted all the way to London. When she had been taken by Ouromov, James had followed, half knowing that she would be the key to Janus's downfall. He had been in a standoff with Ouromov, Janus, and the vicious Xenia Onnatop, that had resulted in Janus and Xenia's escape, Ouromov's death, and very nearly James's and Natalya's thanks to an explosive ridden train carriage. Their survival had thrown them together - and the new lovers had travelled to Cuba.

Had Alec felt anything for the redhead? Ashleigh bit her lip. James had told her that Alec had taunted him, claiming to have tasted her before James had. The old rivalries coming out once more. She had asked Alec, and he had shrugged the suggestion off, the computer programmer had been an easy target with which to torment James, so he had used her.

Ashleigh had decided not to push any further. In the same way she had never asked Alec about his relationship with Xenia. She suspected that their partnership had been purely professional and that Xenia's sadistic tendencies had revolted Alec in some way. Xenia had been a member of staff, a trained killer, a weapon to use against their enemies.

At least Ashleigh hoped so.

The terrain they were travelling across was getting rougher with every moment. Ashleigh swallowed down her nausea and focused instead on her surroundings. They were in a very remote area now, more trees than gaps, and Jasmin had been forced to reduce her speed so they could find some sort of safe trail through.

'Nearly there,' Jasmin muttered through gritted teeth as she fought with the gear stick.

'So what exactly is it we're doing?'

'Janus used a lake as a cover for the satellite dish. It would empty as needed and the dish would rise. Absolutely perfect. After the aerial was destroyed, the remains fell into the dish…'

Jasmin paused. This was sensitive territory, Alec Trevelyan had fallen to his so called second death from the aerial, and had only just been able to move to his broken body in time before he had been crushed.

'Go on,' Ashleigh whispered.

'The lake was refilled on the Americans' orders. Easier than cleaning up the mess, I suppose. The aerial is still there. It's a mangled mess, but its there. James asked me to show it to you.'

'Is this some sort of sick joke?' Ashleigh couldn't believe what she was hearing.

'No,' Jasmin was taken aback. 'No, of course not. Look, I think you should see this. See what exactly Alec was capable of.'

'I know what he was capable of.'

'Its up to you. If you don't want to see the aerial, fine. The ruins of the buildings are still there. But James asked me to explore the aerial.'

'Why?'

'Its part of my research, alright?' Jasmin snapped.

'Now I know you're kidding me,' Ashleigh sighed.

'Look, I know that you're not comfortable with this, but it is my work. I'm not going to pass an opportunity to witness first hand something I have been researching for years.'

Ashleigh stayed silent. There was more on her mind than just the idea of seeing the places of Alec's downfall.

'I'm going to do this whether you're beside me or not, Ashleigh. '

'I thought we'd be diving in the sea,' Ashleigh protested feebly. The sickness was rising in her once more and she could feel sweat beginning to prickle along the line of her spine.

'Why would we be diving in the sea?' Jasmin asked distractedly, as she edged the nose of the vehicle over the top of a slope.

'I don't know,' Ashleigh murmured, then gripped the handle tighter as the car swept down the slope. 'I really don't know.'

The lake was huge. Ashleigh clambered from the car, unable to take in what she was seeing. The water was a deep dark blue and spread in each direction as far as the eye could see.

'There's a satellite dish under that?' she asked incredulously.

Jasmin laughed. 'Impressive, isn't it?' She opened the boot of the vehicle and began to pull the equipment from the back. She threw a black wetsuit at Ashleigh. 'I'm sorry to have misled you. You don't have to do this if you don't want to.'

Ashleigh shrugged, in what she hoped was a nonchalant manner. 'We're here now.'

'Good for you,' Jasmin nodded. She took her own wetsuit out of the back, and pulled her vest over her head.

Ashleigh took her lead, and shrugged her vest off. Underneath, like Jasmin, she wore a simple black bikini. The wetsuit fitted snugly over her body, showing off her athletic curves.

There was something comforting and familiar about the safety checks of the equipment. Ashleigh had learnt to dive in her first year at MI6 and had loved it. There was something so fascinating about being submerged underwater in an alien world.

All that had changed on a December day in the middle of the ocean.

Lucinda Eliot had been determined to kill her. Trapped in the bowels of the aircraft carrier with a gun digging into the base of her spine, Ashleigh had been convinced that she was experiencing the final minutes of her life.

The explosion had shocked both of them, and they had turned to see the torrent of raging water surging down the narrow corridor towards them. It had hit them both hard, sweeping them away, until finally the surge had subsided, dumping them both against the metal corridor wall. The ship had been listing heavily, they had been almost thigh deep in water. They had struggled with each other, first fighting for the gun, and then the small silver knife that Lucinda had been carrying. They had been struggling, first one held under the water, then the other, and all the time the same thoughts had been running through Ashleigh's head. How long did it take for someone to drown? Would this be the place she would die? And the final, most harrowing thought of all; would Alec even care about her fate?

The water had been icy cold, surrounding her, pressing down hard on her. She had been able to taste salt, from the sea, and from the blood that had swirled around her. Her blood.

She had thought she was going to die.

She had known that she was going to die.

Unless she had killed first.

They had struggled for dominance. The knife had been coming towards Ashleigh, on a deathly path, until finally, Ashleigh had gripped Lucinda's hand and thrust it upwards.

It had penetrated Lucinda's throat. She had died moments later.

Ashleigh hadn't had time to think about things. She had had to save the world.

She had found James, and they knew their only escape was to abandon the rapidly sinking aircraft carrier. James had told her to jump, and she had, and yet again she had been assaulted by the stabbing iciness of the ocean. Instincts had told her to fight her way to the surface, but it had been a struggle. When James had pulled her into the inflatable craft, she had come close to breaking down, and that loss of control would forever taste of salt, and feel freezing cold.

She hadn't been underwater since. Even living next to the sea, she had always refused to go in further than her knees. She would sit on the beach and watch Alec and Natasha splash around, and shake her head when they asked her to join them.

She was scared. The sea's power scared her. She had felt its pull on her legs as she had tried to swim away from the sinking ship, a sea that wanted to take her with it. She had felt the burning in her lungs as she had tried desperately to hold what little oxygen she had in there. It had a hold over her now. She could just about manage to swim in the pool at home, but the sea? Never.

And now she was faced with a lake.

She stepped towards the water's edge, and glanced down at the dark coloured water. It would be deep, she knew that, but she had dived in deep water before. She needed to keep her head and just relax. If she hyperventilated, she would be in trouble.

She reached for her weight belt and strapped it around her waist, the three weights heavy against her hips. The tanks were already snugly fitted into the BCD jacket, and she saw Jasmin step forward to help. She turned her back, and slid her arms into the jacket, the tank already a dead weight on her back. She fumbled with the straps, then braced herself against the tank. It took a few moments to get accustomed to its solid mass, but when she had, she reached for Jasmin's and helped her strap in. She reached for her fins and mask, spitting into the mask with fierce determination - she wanted perfect visibility if she had to submit herself to this ordeal.

'Are you ready?' Jasmin asked and Ashleigh saw her holding her own mask and fins.

Ashleigh swallowed hard. She gripped her fins harder. 'Yes,' she whispered.

The water was like ice around her ankles. She tried to ignore the feeling of the water lapping at her legs, as if it was tasting her. She shuddered, and took another step forward.

She reached down and strapped her fins on, her balance slightly off as the water buffeted her. She rinsed her mask and tugged it on, leaving it resting on her forehead. She refused to put it on until she had to. She stepped out into deeper water, the inflated BCD making walking difficult. She almost wished they had a boat they could have taken, all it would take was one leap of faith backwards into the water and she would be submerged, this slow entry was a thousand times worse. Jasmin was matching her pace for pace, and she saw the other woman check her regulators one last time. Ashleigh heard the hiss of air from the main reg as Jasmin checked the mix was coming freely. Jasmin nodded, and reached for her mask, pulling it over her eyes, distorting her pretty features. She forced the reg into her mouth and breathed a few times, checking it was working.

It was time to do the same. Ashleigh rinsed her mask out one last time and then tugged it on, feeling the pressure on her nose and cheekbones as the suction took. Her world was now limited to a small area framed by the heavy plastic of the mask. She found her main regulator and slid the plastic into the mouth. She breathed once, twice and tasted the bitter air as it flowed through the pipes. She groped for the tube that would control the inflation of her jacket and then turning to Jasmin, pointed downwards into the water. Jasmin curled her thumb and forefinger together to form an 'o', the universal symbol for 'okay' and slipped slowly under the surface.

Taking a deep a breath as she could manage through the reg, Ashleigh pressed the valve on the end of the inflation tube and felt the jacket deflate around her. The weight of the tank and the weights around her waist slowly dragged her downwards into the depths.

She wanted to scream.

* * *

So far the dive had been surprisingly easy. Ashleigh had coped well so far, focusing on the rhythmic kick of her fins, and the steadiness of her own breathing. They were moving towards the centre of the lake, slowing getting deeper as they moved forwards.

Jasmin was a confident diver, Ashleigh noted, admiring the fluid movement of the other woman through the cold water. Jasmin would turn every so often and Ashleigh would immediately 'ok' her. She was okay. She was coping.

The water was murkier than she thought it would be, a deep dark green, and she would almost panic sometimes as Jasmin would pull ahead out of sight. A few kicks usually caught her up, but Ashleigh wished the other woman would slow down.

Ashleigh blinked. She had lost Jasmin again. Through the murkiness, she thought she could make out the flash of a fin, so she propelled herself forward, heading for that movement.

The flash of silver that shot past her didn't register at first. Ashleigh slowed, and glanced around her left and right. Behind her she thought she saw something.

Jasmin.

She had to get to Jasmin. She threw her arms out, dragging herself through the water, kicking as hard as she could. She could see Jasmin up ahead and struggled to reach her.

Jasmin turned, and Ashleigh lifted her hand into the stop signal. They treaded water, looking at each other. Ashleigh could see Jasmin's confusion, and she raised her hand once more, palm face down, and rotated her wrist, a basic distress signal. Jasmin saw the signal and glanced around, then replied with a 'stay together' signal. Ashleigh followed closely.

All hell broke loose.

Ashleigh felt arms encircling her clumsily, halting her forward moving, and preventing her from swimming. She struggled to see what was happening to Jasmin.

There were four or five of them in black wetsuits and armed, heavily armed with what looked like harpoon guns. That explained the silver flash she had seen.

Jasmin was trying to fight them off, but three headed for her at once. She fought, but they were dragging her away, further into the murkiness. Ashleigh lashed backwards with her elbows, hoping to jab them in to the sensitive ribs of the diver holding her, but still he held on.

Ashleigh began to panic.

The mix in her tanks wasn't coming through quickly enough, she breathed faster, trying to suck it harder into her lungs, her rational mind telling her not to, that she was beginning to hyperventilate, that she needed to slow her breathing down, that she needed to think and work out a plan of action, but fear was winning Ashleigh over rapidly, and she fought now not only to get away from the man but to get to the surface. Whoever was holding her was strong, he pinned her easily, grappling with the straps of her BDC so that the tanks were no longer stable on her back, rolling her around as her centre of balance went. The tanks slipped around to her side, taking her with them, and she saw him them, dressed all in black, his mask revealing nothing but a reflection of her own terrified face. She fumbled for the straps herself, hoping to tighten them, hoping to regain her equilibrium, but his hand darted out and grabbed at her mask, pulling it viciously from her face, water swamping in, cold against her face, swamping her nose and eyes. Instinctively she shut her eyes, knowing it to be a mistake, but unable to help herself.

Taking a deep, rubbery breath, she forced her eyes open, and saw him coming at her once more. Her hands found her weight belt, and she managed to rip it off, trying to swing it at him. Although the movement was halted by the water, it was enough of a threat for the masked diver to back off.

It was time to move, and Ashleigh knew it, kicking out she swam forward frantically, desperate to get away, desperate to find Jasmin. She couldn't see very well in the dark water but she forced herself forwards all the same.

Jasmin was still struggling up ahead, she was not much more than a shadow, but Ashleigh could just make her out. Jasmin saw her, and tried to break free, to head back to her companion, but the three divers were stronger.

Another flash of silver shot past Ashleigh, and this time she saw the lethal point of the harpoon. It flew threw the water, losing its brightness as it went, heading straight for the struggling four, and then, it hit.

The figure in the middle stopped struggling.

Jasmin seemed to slump forwards, her dark hair streaming over her face, her movements stilling. As her body slipped downwards, the three divers hoisted her up, supporting her.

Jasmin was dead.

A scream rose within Ashleigh.

The blow to her head was sudden, a hand was clawing at her mouth, trying to drag away her regulator. It was wrenched suddenly, and painfully from her, and Ashleigh tasted blood in her mouth.

She couldn't breath. She instinctively clamped her mouth shut, and tried to find her secondary regulator, knowing that if she got it, there might be a chance.

And then she stopped.

The mysterious diver hadn't forgotten her. As Ashleigh turned towards him, he raised the now reloaded harpoon gun.

It was levelled directly with her stomach.

Ashleigh stared death in the face.


	22. Chapter Twenty One

-1The harpoon was aimed right at her stomach. Ashleigh stared in fascination at it, ignoring the burning sensation that was building up in her lungs. She waited, imagining the gun firing, seeing the man's finger on the trigger, a sudden flare immediately dampened by the surrounding water, water that would be disturbed in a series of ripples and bubbles as the harpoon began its deadly journey.

It would take seconds to reach her, only slightly slowed by the underwater resistance, and then it would be there, piercing through the rubber of her wetsuit, she would feel the point before it actually broke through the synthetic surface, it would bury itself deep within her abdominal cavity, tearing through her peritoneum, ripping through her liver, probably burying itself deep within her upper digestive tract. How long would it take to die in such a way? Would the blood loss kill her first, would shock help to numb the pain or would she be terrifying conscious throughout, feeling her life slip away from her, in this murky underwater realm.

So many people had lost their life here at her husband's hands, would she merely be another ghost to haunt this forsaken place?

The diver was raising the gun, and Ashleigh realised through her fear that she was a sitting target. She glanced upwards, trying to estimate the distance to the surface and just how much time she had left. It had been so long since she had practised holding her breath, now she had to make a snap decision.

Fight her way to surface too quickly, and risk a case of the Bends, or stare certain death in the face as she was doing now.

He was about to fire.

With a violent lunge she shot forward, feeling desperately slow and clumsy. The sudden attack worked, the other diver checked, and in his hesitation, she tried to grab the harpoon gun away from him. Curling herself around, she managed to ram her foot deep into the diver's stomach and knew then that if she paused now, there was no hope.

Lungs bursting, Ashleigh shot to the surface.

Only one thought flashed through her head.

Don't look back.

Lungs bursting, heart feeling like it was about to implode, Ashleigh broke the surface seconds later. Never had anything tasted so sweet as the mouthfuls of air Ashleigh forced into her chest at that moment.

She had no time to think. She lashed out, wanting nothing more than to reach the shore and get away from this godforsaken place, but twenty feet away, she stopped. Turning frantically, she looked for any movement rippling on the surface.

'Van Dien!' she screamed into the emptiness. 'Jasmin!'

There was no reply.

In frustration, Ashleigh slapped her palm down on the water hard, sending out a shockwave of ripples.

There was no time to dwell. She had to get away, she had to get away now.

The surface was close, about half a mile away. Ashleigh realised they hadn't swam far, but the distance had seemed greater once they had been beneath the surface. Reaching the edge, Ashleigh realised that she had no idea where she was, but the feel of the water on her skin was thick and greasy, and she didn't care, she just wanted out of there. She dragged herself from the lake, and collapsed panting on the bank. Her head felt like it was being dragged through glass, and she prayed it wasn't because of her fast ascent. The ground was muddy and slick beneath her, but it didn't seem to matter as she stumbled to her feet and stared out at the spookily still water.

'Jasmin!' she called again. 'Jasmin!'

Once more there was no reply. Ashleigh paced the edge, hoping against hope that she might see the faintest flicker on the water's surface and that suddenly, Jasmin's dark head would pop up, her curls plastered to her head and a look of pleased satisfaction on her slightly smug face.

There was nothing.

Cupping her hands around her mouth, Asleigh tried again. 'Jasmin! Jasmin! Are you okay?'

She jumped as there was a squawk of protest from the nearby trees and an indignant bird shot from its secluded perch. But still no Jasmin. Had she really seen the other woman's death? It didn't seem possible that someone as totally alive as Jasmin could be killed so simply.

Panic and nausea began to take its toll. She was so tired, but convinced that the divers were about to appear any time. She couldn't work out where she was, how far she was from the 4x4, or if she had even come in the right direction. Dense forest covered the area.

There was a distinct crack. The crack of a foot stepping on a twig.

Ashleigh froze. She jerked around, listening once more for any sort of noise. There was silence. Ashleigh strained, listening for any other sort of noise. There was definitely a quiet rustling coming from the forest.

Reaching down, she tore the fins from her feet and then she ran.

The faint trail was littered with leaves, small branches and hanging vines. Trees were packed close on either side, scratching at her face and arms. Her bare feet felt every single sharp pebble, every lump and bump on the forest floor. She ignored the stinging pain in her side and ran for her life. There was definitely someone coming after her, she could hear the steady thump of boots some distance behind.

She glanced back, to check her progress, to see if someone was following her, and in that moment of panic, she lost track of what was in front of her.

Her face hit something that felt like a warm, muscled tree branch and she hit the ground hard, winding herself. She lay there, stunned, and found herself staring up at the hard, black face of what she vaguely thought was a US marine, with a rather large, impressive weapon.

'Hi,' she managed to stammer. Relief made her feel giddy, at least this man was identifiable as an American, and potentially, her saviour.

He glared down at her, and she saw her own, slightly damp reflection in his mirror shades.

'Identify yourself,' the 'marine' barked in a crisp US accent.

Ashleigh squinted up at him. 'No,' she said shortly.

'Identify yourself, ma'am!' the marine barked again.

'I said, 'no',' Ashleigh drawled with all the arrogance that an English public school education could instil.

'Ma'am,' Ashleigh winced at the continued use of the pronoun, 'if you do not identify yourself, I will be forced to take action.'

'No, you won't,' Ashleigh said, pulling herself slowly to her feet. Her face ached, and she prodded her tender jaw with a cautious finger. 'You won't take any action, because your order is to detain me until your superiors arrive, not to take 'action' against me. And you Americans are so good at obeying orders.' Bluffing seemed like the best action to take.

'Ma'am, I repeat, you will identify yourself and you will stay in your current position.'

'Sod off.'

'Excuse me, ma'am?'

'I said 'sod off'. Its an English term. Short for 'sodomite' I believe. I am telling you, in other words, to piss off and leave me alone. I do not need macho, American, wannabe action heroes giving me orders. If needs be, I will discuss my situation with your superior but until he arrives,' Ashleigh pointedly glanced around at the trees which were trembling somewhat, 'I am going to ignore you. Do you understand?'

The Marine continued to glare at her. She saw his finger itch towards his trigger, before reluctantly pulling away. 'You are in no position to be refusing orders, ma'am, you are currently trespassing on US government property. You will give me your name.'

'I told you, I will talk to your superior. If he can be arsed to show his face.'

The trembling in the trees increased tenfold. Ashleigh laughed, mockingly. She had had enough of this. She was cold, wet and dirty, and in no mood for American jocks. She raised her chin, and said as haughtily as possible 'Either you detain me, or you let me go. You have ten seconds to make your choice.'

There was an awful lot of rustling coming from the bushes behind. Ashleigh turned on her heel, and swallowed.

You do not argue with eleven men with automatic weapons pointing at you. She turned back to the original marine. 'I take it you're detaining me.'

'Walk.' And then he added as an afterthought, 'Ma'am.'

'Twelve of you, and one of me?' Ashleigh shrugged belligerently. 'I suppose that's fair enough.'

The marine gave an audible, impatient sigh, and nudged her with the butt of his weapon. 'Walk.'


	23. Chapter Twenty Two

Another update. Phew. I'm spoiling you guys. Thank you for the reviews. I daren't say anything on any of the theories you have. But you're all such clever people. Still working on this, the chapters are flowing freely for once. And I like this chapter. Its one of my favourites.

* * *

M sat in her office, pen in hand, documents on her desk and scribbled absent minded responses as quickly as possible. Her mind was far away from matters of national security, even though she had a meeting with the Prime Minister (arrogant little twerp), and the Minister for Defence (not so arrogant, but still a little twerp) in half an hour.

There was too much trouble in the world at the moment, and the safety of a five year old girl should not be paramount on her mind. Nor should the whereabouts of her errant parents be bothering her quite as much.

She tapped her pen against the desk, turning her chair so she could gaze out across the Thames. London was beautiful in the summer, even though it was filled with American tourists asking why Windsor Castle had been built under Heathrow airport's main flight path. The city seemed to be covered by a jewelled gauze, which was actually the sun penetrating the petrol fumes and other general pollution that seemed to smother the city. But it was still spectacular.

London was not her domain, the world was, but she loved London more. It was a passionate relationship, volatile, loving and tender one moment, rage filled and hateful the next. Since the terrorist attacks in the city, there was an undercurrent of fear too, although most hardened Londoners would merely sniff at another terrorist attack and mutter under their breath 'bloody nuisance'. It didn't matter if your tube train was late, or if your arm had been blown off, everything was a bloody nuisance, and the only known cure was a cup of tea, with the only concession being plenty of sugar in the tea for 'the shock'.

Below her, the Thames snaked lazily through the city, the tour boats pointing out the Lego brick building of the MI6 headquarters, before moving quickly on to the London Eye and Whitehall. London was at its most charming today, red double-decker buses and black cabs idly meandering up the Embankment. M tapped her pen against the arm of her chair, and sighed.

As if on cue there was a quiet, alerting beep from her computer. M turned, impatiently, ready to dismiss whoever dared to contact her on her highest security channel.

'Alec?' she just managed to stop her mouth from dropping open. 'Is that you?'

'It is.' On her computer screen, Alec Trevelyan appeared, looking tired, dishevelled and certainly not his usual self. She couldn't quite be sure, but he looked as if he hadn't shaved for a few days.

'Where are you?'

'I can't say.' There was resignation in his voice.

'Alec,' M sighed, and slumped in her chair, for once filled with pity for another human being. 'What is going on?'

Alec seemed to slump too, and buried his head in his hands. 'Everything. Nothing. Too much. Not enough.'

'Have you found Natasha?'

'No.' Alec's voice was strangled. 'But I know who has her.'

'Who?'

'Not on this line. I can't risk telling you, M, I know what he could do to her.'

'Do you know him?'

'Yes.' This time the sigh was audible even over the connection. 'I know who he is, he knows who I am, and I know he's a dangerous bastard. If he even knew I was talking to you now, he'd kill her without a second thought.'

'Can you negotiate with him?'

Alec laughed hoarsely. 'He's not in this for any reason but to hurt me. M, you don't seem to realise, its not 'if' he'll kill her, its when.'

M's blood turned to ice, and she grabbed the edge of the desk, drawing strength from the solid bulk of the wood. 'So what can we do?'

'Give him a reason to keep her alive.'

'Does he have one?'

Alec glanced up at the screen once more, and there was genuine pain in his green eyes. 'Yes. As long as he has her, he can tell me what to do.'

'Oh dear god. It was you in Paris. Ashleigh thought she saw you, but none of us were sure.'

'Yes. He ordered me to make the hit, and I had to do it. I have to do whatever he says. Whenever he tells me to. Because if I don't, Natasha dies, and if that happens, I'll try to kill him'

'But he'll kill you first.'

'That's a definite. He's too well protected. I can't say anymore, but your initial hunch is right, M. Remember that.'

'My hunch?' M repeated, hating not knowing what he meant.

'Speak to Charles. He thinks he knows.'

'Charles.' M nodded. 'So what now?'

'You wait. There's nothing else you can do. There's nothing else I can do. I have my next order, and I have to follow it out. I wouldn't worry too much though, its not as high profile as my last hit.'

'Alec…' M said with a warning in her tone.

Alec looked steadily at her, and M saw anger there on his face. 'What? What is so different, M? You use me as your hired gun, and you pay me well for doing so. Now I'm just working for someone else, but the difference is I'm doing it to keep my daughter alive. So forgive me for being somewhat focused on my current 'work'.'

'There's a difference, Alec. I don't order you to carry out direct assassinations.'

'No, but if the opportunity comes up you aren't exactly opposed to it, are you?'

'All for Queen and Country, Alec. Lets not go there, shall we? I know how you feel about England.'

'And somehow I still end up working for it.'

There was another beeping, this time from M's intercom, and she swore under her breath. 'Alec, one moment, please. Don't go anywhere.'

'Yes?' she snapped.

There was a hesitant pause from the other end, as if they were well aware they had interrupted something important. A young male voice finally plucked up the courage to speak. 'Sorry to interrupt you, sir, but we've had a communiqué from the Americans. They've picked up someone wandering in a restricted area in Cuba. They're not happy, she won't identify herself, but she's definitely English. They're contacting different agencies hoping to shed some light on who she is.'

'And?' M rubbed her temples, knowing a headache would hit her hard later on.

'Er, well, sir, you asked to be informed about anything strange going in Cuba…'

M's head snapped up. 'Yes. Of course. Thank you.'

'Sir? What should I tell the Americans?' the disembodied voice tried to ask, but M's finger was already jabbing at the disconnect button.

Alec was still connected, she noticed with a sigh of relief.

'You're in Cuba, aren't you?' she asked.

Alec looked unsure.

'You can tell me that much at least.'

'Yes. I am. Havana. Why?'

'Because for one moment, I was hoping that you would tell me you weren't.'

'Why?' Alec asked, suddenly suspicious. 'What is going on?'

'Ashleigh is in Cuba.'

Alec swore.

'I think she's managed to get into some sort of trouble with the Americans.'

'Why is she here?' Alec snarled.

'Because she's trying to find you and her daughter.'

'And now she's in trouble.'

'Yes.' The headache was beginning to creep against her temples now, and she knew that she would have to delve into her desk for the prescription painkillers she kept for exactly this reason. 'Alec, she's in trouble, she's your wife. She's suffering too. Do you even care?'

Alec looked steadily at M. 'No,' he said coldly.

M snorted in disbelief.

'She got herself into trouble, she can get herself out of it. And then she can get the hell off this island before she jeopardises my daughter's life anymore than she already has.'

'She's just supposed to go home and wait, is 'she'?'

'Yes. Or better still, you look after her. Keep her in England, and as far away from all this as possible.'

'How chivalrous of you.'

'Chivalry has nothing to do with this, M. I want her away from all this. She'll only compromise everything. Like she always does.'

M raised an eyebrow.

'I've already said too much.'

'Yes, Alec, you have. She's your wife. And she might be in trouble.'

'And whose fault is that?'

Alec disappeared from the screen. M stared at the screen not quite sure what she had just heard.

The Prime Minster would be waiting. But first, she had to sort out the Americans. With a sigh, she picked up the phone and dialled a number.

It was days like this when retirement seemed like very pleasant option.


	24. Chapter Twenty Three

And so the story plods ever on. I sometimes forget that as readers, you have no idea what is happening next, and am somewhat surprised when you all review! So thank you for all of the reviews, and its lovely to know you are enjoying this. Casino Royale has been in my head a lot recently - I'd be very interested to see what Ashleigh would think of the new Bond (if I could make that little plot detail work!), after all, she does seem to have a thing for bad boys with blond hair... But that's another plot line altogether.

* * *

Ashleigh sat in the small holding cell and stared at the four walls. The cell was small, shaded, lit only from a small high barred window, but at least it had been whitewashed recently so it was reasonably bright inside. A nice, homely touch Ashleigh thought sarcastically to herself.

She sat on the small, hard bench, the very thin mattress offering little comfort. It was airless in the cell, and hot, she had long since rolled down the top half of her wetsuit, the thick rubber had felt like it was suffocating her skin, making it hot and slightly clammy.

She was worried. Very worried. She had been here for several hours, and knew that evening would be approaching soon. She had watched the single shaft of light creep around the cell, growing shorter as the shadows grew longer, and guessed that it was early evening. Her watch had been taken from her, much to her fury, in the hopes it might identify her. She had worn the Omega since she had been an active agent, and like Alec, had grown curiously attached to it. It was also almost standard issue for most agents, and she knew that it would give her away if someone recognised it.

With a sigh, she drew her knees up to her chest and rested her back against the slightly gritty wall. She heard footsteps approaching, and knew it was the guard making his hourly round.

'You ok?' he asked brusquely.

'Yeah,' she said, lowering her head to her knees. She could taste blood in her mouth from where her regulator had been ripped from it, and the inside of her mouth was stinging.

'Need anything?'

'Some clothes would be nice,' she said, but not that hopefully.

'We'll see.' He had a nice accent, Ashleigh thought, a melodious drawl, not at all like the nasal whine she usually associated with the American accent The guard spoke leisurely, as if there was no hurry with words, even a short sentence could be drawn out. It wasn't quite a Southern drawl, but it was pleasant.

She was going mad.

The guard began to walk away. Suddenly, Ashleigh remembered something. 'The rose!' she called after him, jumping to her feet and dashing over to the door. 'The rose.'

'Huh?' The guard turned to her, looking bewildered, and slightly suspicious, as if he were expecting some kind of trick.

'The Rose. That's all I know. If there's someone called the Rose, I want to talk to him, okay?' Ashleigh smiled hopefully, her fingers curled around the bars.

'Lady, there isn't anyone called the Rose here.'

'The Rose,' Ashleigh said stubbornly. 'You tell whoever is in charge here that I know about the Rose, and I want its protection.'

She could tell the guard thought she was insane, but she didn't care anymore. All her bravado was slipping away from her, she was tired, aching, and the horrible feeling of nausea was creeping up on her again, along with the terrible knowledge that she had abandoned Jasmin, most likely to her death.

The harpoon had definitely hit her, Ashleigh knew that much. Could Jasmin have survived? The idea seemed incredulous, the weapon had hit its target, Jasmin had collapsed. In the water, would survival be prolonged, or would it be shortened? The same thoughts echoed in her head again and again, fighting with all the other horrific sights she had seen in her life. Once more, she had seen death, and found it distasteful.

She hadn't liked Van Dien, the agent. She had found her arrogant, and mistrustful. But Jasmin, as a person? Last night, had it only been last night that they had shared a bottle of wine? Time seemed to have slowed, and now stopped since last night. Last night when Jasmin had almost seemed human.

No. Time had stopped since the moment she had woken and realised that Natasha was gone, that what she had seen before she had hit the floor hard hadn't been a nightmare, that someone had indeed kidnapped her daughter.

Ashleigh leant her cheek against the thick rubber of her wet suited knee. The hole in her heart seemed to grow a little bigger every day that passed without finding Natasha. She had a dreadful ache for her, she wanted nothing more than to wrap her arms around the little girl, smell her thick hair, or to run her fingers through the silky nearly black tresses and plait it into a thick rope. She wanted to read with Natasha, feel the pride that always filled her when she realised just how clever her girl was. She loved the mornings when Natasha would creep into their bed, and the three of them would curl up together, laughing and joking together, but she loved it even more when Alec wasn't there, and it was just she and Natasha in the vast softness of the bed, and she could giggle with her daughter and almost feel like a child herself. To give her all the love that her own mother had given her.

If she found Alec, she would find Natasha.

She had to stay focused, but first of all, she needed to get the hell out of this place.

She shivered, and reached for the thin, but soft blanket that had been left folded on the edge of the bed. She wrapped it round her shoulders, and leant back against the wall once more.

It seemed so far removed from her life of only a few weeks ago. She had spent the days analysing and working on the documents that MI6 frequently shipped to her. She was free to work as she pleased, and spend as much time as she wanted with her daughter. A tutor came to work with Natasha for her schooling, and Ashleigh and Alec would pick up on the rest of her education. Alec was already making noises about sending Natasha away to school in the near future, but neither of their hearts were totally reconciled to that idea.

She lived a life that many others would envy, but right now, trapped in a small cell on an American base, on a communist island, she felt a thrill. She was an agent, had been trained as an agent, and she was thinking as one again.

And when they asked her for her identity, she would stand straight and proud, and declare…

'Hey, lady.'

The voice shook Ashleigh out of her daydream and she realised that she had been dozing, her cheek pressed against the cool of the wall. She jerked awake and glanced around, and saw a new man.

'Yes?' she asked, rubbing the back of her arm over her eyes.

'Nice watch,' the man said, before throwing it at her. Ashleigh fumbled it, caught off guard, and immediately turned it over, checking the back of the case. There were small scratches on the edge of the metal, and she knew that they had pried it open, but at least they had tried to do it carefully.

'British, right?' the man said. He was middle aged, a man whose muscle had started to run to fat some time ago, close cropped hair of non descript colour marked him out as having been military at some point.

'That's right,' Ashleigh said cautiously.

The man grinned, and snapped the gum he was chewing. He was holding a faded blue baseball cap, and he tugged it on now, watching her all the time.

'So what agency are you?' he asked, leaning against the bars of the cell. Ashleigh stared at him. 'Well? Are you Met Police? Or something a little more secretive than that?'

'I'm not saying anything.'

'Sweetheart, you're going to have to talk, or else you're going to be staying here for one hell of a long time.'

'I want to talk to the Rose,' Ashleigh reiterated, and turned her head back to the wall.

The man laughed, a real belly laugh that Ashleigh half expected to end in 'yeee- haw!'. 'The Rose? Who told you about the Rose?'

'A friend of mine. A colleague of mine,' Ashleigh said stubbornly.

'Really.' The word was drawn out into the silence. There was a click of metal of metal, and the man opened the cell with a large set of keys. He wandered into the cell, and perched on the edge of the bench. Ashleigh watched him suspiciously.

'Name's Jack Wade, honey,' he held out a large, meaty hand.

'Pleasure to meet you,' Ashleigh almost smiled, shaking his hand.

'So come on, tell me your name. I know you're a Brit.'

'That's all you know, so far.' this time, Ashleigh did smile.

'Playing hard to get. Just like my second wife,' Wade chuckled.

'Tell me who you are first, Mr. Wade, and I'll think about it.'

Wade leant in close to her. 'Officially, I'm CIA. Unofficially… well, that depends on who is giving me my orders, if you get what you mean.'

Ashleigh nodded, feeling a strange affinity for this larger than life man. Even if he was beginning to invade her personal space.

'I'll do a deal with you,' she said finally.

'Go on.'

'I'll tell you my name,' Ashleigh leant in conspiratorially. 'In exchange for some clothes.'

'And if I say no?'

'Then I die of hypothermia overnight. And you have to explain that to both of our governments.'

Wade laughed again. 'No I won't, sweetheart. No one knows this place even exists. Even the US government is a little bit hazy about what's happening here. You're officially off the radar, lady. But fair is fair. If I get you some clothes, you'll tell me your name. And your organisation.'

'And you'll get me the Rose?'

Wade smirked. 'We'll see about that.'

Fair to his word, Wade returned a few minutes later with a pair of slate blue combats and a faded blue fitted t-shirt, marked with a US logo. Ashleigh grinned, despite herself.

'Turn around,' she said primly, gesturing at him. As he turned, she wriggled into the clothing, grateful to be out of the claustrophobic rubber of the wetsuit.

'Are you going to tell me your name now?' Wade asked once Ashleigh had tugged on the tshirt and straightened it.

For a moment Ashleigh paused, her fingers playing with the frayed edge of the hem. 'Kain,' she said. 'My name is Kain.'

'Just 'Kain'?'

'For now.'

'Not what agency you are?'

'I think you have a pretty good idea already. And I know you're planning to run my name through whatever system you have, so you'll just have to wait until then.'

'You know, I don't trust a woman who doesn't like to talk.'

'We're a rare commodity.'

'So you're just going to sit here are you?

'Well, I had hoped to do some sightseeing, I suppose that will have to wait until you decide what to do with me.'

Wade looked her over, and Ashleigh flushed under the direct gaze of the older man. Wade may have been presenting a congenial attitude, but Ashleigh suspected that he was far more knowing, and practical than his devil may care role suggested.

'I have a question,' she said softly.

'I'm not sure you're in a position to be asking questions.'

'My colleague. I was with someone else before I was captured. We were attacked. I managed to get away, but I think she may have been seriously hurt,' Ashleigh decided that that was less painful than thinking about the truth. 'I wanted to know if you found anyone else, if you might be holding her here.'

'Your colleague?'

'Yes. Another woman, a little taller than me. Long dark hair, tanned skin, green eyes. Attractive. She was diving with me.'

Wade paused, and Ashleigh couldn't interpret the look that flashed across his face. 'Who attacked you?'

'I don't know,' Ashleigh admitted. 'There were several of them, all divers, we were under water, they were armed with harpoon guns. They took my partner.'

Wade shook his head. 'We didn't find anyone else, Kain. You were on your own.'

'But…' Ashleigh tried to protest.

Wade glanced around quickly. 'You were on your own, Kain,' he repeated fiercely.

Ashleigh hesitated. She wanted to protest further, but she nodded slowly. 'On my own. As usual,' she said bitterly. Her fingers plucked at the edge of the blanket, and she stared up at the window at the darkening sky. She refused to meet Wade's eyes.

There was a pause, a low cough, and then the sound of Wade walking away. A clash of metal on metal, the click of a lock, and Ashleigh was alone again.


	25. Chapter Twenty Four

Ashleigh woke to the sound of a key turning in a lock. A sharp click echoed in the night. She jerked awake from her restless sleep, trying to throw the blanket from where it had wrapped around her hips. Before she could, a hand shot out and clamped across her mouth, another hand clamped across her body and a voice was hissing in her ear.

'Don't say a word, don't make a sound, just get up and come with me now.'

Ashleigh nodded, feeling the brute strength of Wade's hand across her jaw. Cautiously, he released her, and she slid to her feet, following him across the cell.

They walked down endless whitewashed corridors, passing no guards. Ashleigh stayed quiet, just following Wade and his orders. Ashleigh glanced down at her watch, the illuminated dial telling her that it was just a little after 4am. She was nervous, suspicious, yet she still followed Wade, until he stopped at a non descript door and held it open for her.

'After you,' he said quietly.

Ashleigh slipped inside to discover a small, ramshackle office. A rickety wooden table was smothered in papers, files and documents, two old cushioned chairs sat on opposite sides of it, stuffing protruding from the ripped covers. A surprisingly modern laptop was perched precariously upon several thick, battered books.

'Welcome to my inner sanctum,' Wade said mockingly. 'Have a seat,' he gestured to one of the battered chairs.

'Thanks,' Ashleigh murmured, and collapsed into the chair, sinking deep into the uneven cushions. A pair of orange eyes watched her warily from a nearby shelf, she realised it was a small, slightly straggly cat perched there.

'He wandered in a few months ago and I didn't have the heart to kick him out again,' Wade admittedly sheepishly. 'Now it seems I have the same problem with a British agent.'

'Do you?' Ashleigh asked quietly, fiddling with some of the escaped stuffing from the chair.

'Ashleigh Kain, British Secret Service, active agent, MI6. But here's the rub, Agent Kain, your profile is very quiet about who you actually are. Normal details I'd expect to see have been erased, and I want to know why.'

'International security?'

'You can be smart with me all you like, girl, but I want answers. You were here for a reason, and your colleague was too, and I want to know why. This isn't the normal tourist trap, nor is it on the sightseeing tour. This area has been prohibited for many years now, and you've got no business being here, yet my men just happened to pick you up. Why?' Wade's hand slammed down on the desk, sending papers flying.

'We were interested. We'd heard rumours about what happened here, and we wanted to have a look.'

'Really? And look, wild pigs flying right past my window,' Wade gestured angrily. 'What do you know about what happened here? Because as far as I am concerned, nothing did.'

'So is that why there are armed soldiers patrolling? My guess is that those aren't normal marines, Mr. Wade.'

'That's none of your business, Agent Kain, nor is it to do with your country. Its our jurisdiction, not England's.'

'So tell me what happened here.' Ashleigh shot back. 'What is so interesting that it requires so much security?'

'A matter of international terrorism.'

'Goldeneye,' Ashleigh breathed.

'How do you know that word?'

'I know more than you think, and its time you stop treating me like I'm stupid, Mr. Wade. In fact, I may know even more than you.'

Wade snorted. 'Honey, I lived it.'

Ashleigh shook her head. 'Why are you holding me here?' she asked softly. 'Why not let me go?'

'We found a body, Agent Kain, and giving your description of your partner, we think it could be her.'

'When? When did you find her?' Ashleigh hissed, grabbing the arms of her chair to support herself.

'Shortly after we discovered you. We found the body of a woman, with long dark hair, dressed in a wetsuit. Cause of death was a harpoon to the stomach, but they'd also…' Wade looked uncomfortable.

'They did what?' Ashleigh whispered.

'They cut her up pretty bad.'

'Cut?'

'Slashed. I'd ask you to identify her, but I don't think you should see her. She's not a pretty sight.'

Ashleigh felt a cold numbness spreading through her body. Not a pretty sight. Jasmin had been so attractive, beautiful, and they'd mutilated her.

'I'm sorry,' Ashleigh mumbled, 'I think I'm going to be sick.'

Wade looked alarmed, and then jumped to his feet, jerking open the window behind him. 'Here,' he said, and Ashleigh dashed across the room to it. Wade patted her shoulder reassuringly as she leant over the wooden sill.

'Jeez, they don't breed you strong in the stomach over there in England, do they?' he swallowed uncomfortably as Ashleigh gingerly lifted her head.

'I'm so sorry,' she whispered, her face bright red with mortification.

'I should have been a bit more… sensitive, I guess,' Wade tugged at the collar of his shirt. 'Was she a friend of yours?'

'Sort of,' Ashleigh said, slumping back into the seat. 'She was a member of my organisation, we only met recently, but we were travelling together.'

'Partners?'

'I suppose so. For this case at least. She didn't deserve to die like that.' Ashleigh brushed a shaking hand across her face, feeling the cold sweat that had broken out on her skin.

'No one does. However we still have a problem, Agent Kain, a British agent has been murdered on our territory. I've not contacted MI6 yet, I wanted to tell you first.'

'Why?' Ashleigh's head snapped up. 'Why wait to tell them?'

'Because we have no idea who was responsible, and I wanted to talk to you first. I think you know who is behind it.'

Ashleigh shook her head. 'I'm sorry, but I don't. I have no idea who the men were.'

'Fine,' Wade sat back in his own chair and stared at the young woman. 'You know about Goldeneye?' he squinted at her.

'A bit,' Ashleigh admitted coolly.

'And, er, do you know who was involved with it?'

A trickle of sweat started to snake down the hollow of Ashleigh's spine. 'Why do you ask?'

'Because someone told you about the Rose and I can count the number of people who know about the Rose on my two hands. And I married five of them. One of the others was a Brit involved with Goldeneye. My money's on him being the one who tattled.'

Ashleigh looked at Wade speculatively. 'You're the Rose?'

'In a manner of speaking, honey.'

'It was a man name Bond.'

'Jimbo?' Wade chuckled. 'You know Jimbo?'

'I know him well enough.'

'I bet you do!' Wade hooted.

'He's a friend, Mr Wade.'

'Jack, please, call me Jack. Any friend of Jimbo's is a friend of mine!'

'Jack, tell me, what exactly is the Rose?'

To Ashleigh's alarm, Wade stood, still laughing, and began to unbutton his shorts. Ashleigh watched with increasing panic, frozen to her seat, wondering what on earth was happening, wondering if she should make a run for the door. Her alarm was only increased as Wade turned, exposing the side of one ample buttock to her.

'Wade?' Ashleigh managed to stutter. 'What are you doing? Don't make me have to hurt you.'

'You wanted to see the rose, honey, here we go.'

'The Rose' was a badly executed tattoo of a red flower that apparently was supposed to look like a rose. To Ashleigh it looked as if it had been done in a hurry, and not by a professional either. Next to it was the remains of what had once appeared to have been black lettering and she squinted to see what it had once said.

'Third wife's name,' Wade pre-empted her. 'Fifth wife made me get it removed. Still having the treatment, but its nearly gone.'

'Your fourth wife didn't mind?' Ashleigh said faintly.

'Wasn't into all that, she never really saw it. That's why I moved on to Number Five!'

'Oh,' was all Ashleigh was able to manage. She felt a great sense of relief as Wade tugged his shorts back up and secured them.

'I'll be in contact later this morning with the Brits, let them know the situation. They'll want to make arrangements if one of their agents has been killed. I'll organise transport back to England for you, while I'm at it.'

'No.'

'Excuse me?'

'No. I still have work to do here in Cuba. I'm not leaving yet.'

'That wasn't a request. That was a direct order, Kain. We can't have rogue British agents scouting around here, sticking their nose in where they aren't supposed to be. You'll be on a flight back to London first thing.'

'No, I won't be.'

'I just told you that you will.'

'As far as I remember, the Americans actually have no power over the UK. We may be smaller than you, and occasionally our political leaders roll over to have their bellies' tickled by yours, but you have no jurisdiction over me. I'm here on the orders of my superiors, and my business is in Cuba. And Cuba is where I am going to stay. And I am going to leave here as soon as I can.'

'Agent Kain, you're miles away from anywhere on the island. No one knows you exist out here, no one knows we exist out here. You're miles away from your vehicle, and you have no escort. So tell me, Agent Kain, how exactly do you propose you're going to leave?'

'I'll walk if I have to, Wade.'

He took in the stubborn jaw, and the determined look in her eyes and was amused. 'There's the door, Kain,' he said with a wide gesture towards it. 'You're free to leave whenever you want.'

'Fine,' she said stubbornly, and stalked out the door, leaving Wade still sitting, a wide grin on his face.

'Have a nice day,' he called after her. He settled back into his seat, a twisted grin on his face.

She'd be back within half an hour.


	26. Chapter Twenty Five

Thanks for all your reviews, and welcome to my new readers, I hope you enjoy. I know there hasn't been much of Alec or James at the moment, but I promise, they're coming soon. Honest. Promise.

* * *

Two and a half hours later Jack Wade, ex CIA agent, and now in a role that he didn't like to divulge to just anyone, finally caught up with Ashleigh Kain.

She'd made good distance in the time since that she had left the base, having sauntered out with a jaunty wave to the guards on the gate. Determination had driven her on, and she'd managed to cover several miles in the time she had been on the road.

She heard the car coming up behind, and immediately squared her shoulders, waiting for the confrontation. She half expected Wade to wrestle her into the vehicle and drag her back to the base, ready to throw her on the first plane back to England. Well, she wasn't going without a fight, and he was going to have to be ready for that.

Sweat was sticking her t-shirt to her back, she felt hot, flushed and dirty, she had been stomping along a road which was nothing more than a dusty track since before dawn and she was thoroughly fed up.

The 4x4, a dusty, navy blue jeep, with cracked headlights, and a lovely dent in the front bumper drew level with her. There was the hiss of an electric window, but she still refused to turn her head.

'Stubborn little hellcat, aren't ya?' Wade commented, keeping level with her pace.

'You have no idea,' Ashleigh snarled back through gritted teeth.

'So how long do you intend to keep on hiking?' Wade asked, one eye on the road ahead, the other on the young woman, noticing again the stubborn set of her jaw. He'd waited in his office for her to come back. It had taken him an hour for him to realise that she wasn't. He could be as stubborn as her. A further hour to question every guard on duty, and half an hour to get the jeep and head out onto the road.

'As long as it takes,' Ashleigh panted, her mouth dry and beginning to feel slightly furry.

Women, Wade thought, rolling his eyes. Once their mind was set, that was it, no changing it. He'd learnt it the hard way, through five wives, three sisters, and an overbearing mother. You didn't argue with them, you merely stepped back, and let them be, if you knew what was good for you.

This might just be one of those occasions. He sighed, tilted his cap back on his head, and uttered the words he knew he would regret.

'Get in.'

'What?' Ashleigh glanced at him in confusion.

'The jeep. Get in. I'll drive you.'

'Why?' her brown eyes narrowed in suspicion and he noticed the petulant set of her brow. His second wife had had the same look, the same furrow would appear whenever he had been in trouble. He knew an answer of some sort was required and quickly.

'Because I want to know what you know about Goldeneye. Because I have a sudden urge to drive the three hours to Havana. Because my mother would never allow me to let a slip of a girl walk for days when I could offer her a ride.'

'Your mother?' Ashleigh looked dubious. She stopped walking and glanced around. The track stretched for miles ahead, roughly following an abandoned railway track. It wasn't a pleasant thought. 'Well, if your mother insists.'

* * *

They were silent for what seemed like hours. Ashleigh bit her lip, anxiously. Wade was an anomaly to her, brutish, brash, larger than life, and yet she suspected that he was far sharper than the image he liked to portray. She also realised that he had a knowledge of Goldeneye and therefore, of Alec. And that frightened her. Now she had to make a decision. Wade was in a position to help her, perhaps give her directions on where to go next, but how much information could she divulge to him? And would he listen if she tried to explain, or would he just pull a gun on her and drag her back to the base?

She stretched, trying to find a comfortable position in the jeep. She drew her knees up, resting her feet on the battered dashboard in front of her, the dusty footprints there telling it that it wouldn't be the first time that the dash had been subjected to this treatment.

'There's soda and stuff in the glove box,' Wade gestured towards it, and Ashleigh opened it. Cautiously, she opened one bottle and passed it to Wade, before opening the other for herself.

'So how well do you know James?' she asked finally.

'Spent some time with him in Russia, then supported him out here. Nice guy, wandering eye though.'

'That's James,' Ashleigh said distractedly.

'You one of his?' Wade asked bluntly.

'One of his what?' Ashleigh raised her eyebrows.

'Girlfriend?' he scrutinised her and then offered a revised opinion. 'Daughter?'

'Close enough,' Ashleigh shrugged. 'He was friends with my father. He sort of looks out for me. When he feels like it.'

'He ever tell you what happened out here?'

'Partly. Someone else gave me a few more details, but he isn't very keen when it comes to talking about it.'

'Tell me why you're here,' Wade said, and this time, it was an invitation, not an order.

'I'm sure you've guessed by now that it wasn't for a holiday. Sorry, 'vacation',' she smiled.

'Never mind the language barrier, just get on with the story, before I decide that you're better off walking after all.'

Ashleigh stared out of the window, debating how to say the words that were forming in her mind. She rejected one sentence after another and finally she shrugged. 'I'm searching for someone.'

'Gee, that's the first time I heard that one. You going to tell me who?'

My daughter. My husband. Ashleigh wondered which avenue to take.

'I'm a British agent, Wade. Secret Service, MI6. Same agency as James Bond. I was ordered by my superiors here to track down someone,' the last word sounded feeble even to Ashleigh.

'Go on.'

'That's it.'

'Really? End of story? You're searching for 'someone'. Now, this might sound strange to you, but have you ever thought that I could help you?'

'Not this time.'

'You sure about that?'

'How high is your security clearance, Wade?'

'Probably higher than yours, sweetheart.'

Ashleigh laughed, but there was a bitter edge to it. 'You wouldn't believe me even if I told you.'

Wade sighed. He was not a complex man, he liked things out in the open, a strange viewpoint to have in his line of work. 'Try me,' he growled.

'Fine,' Ashleigh snapped. 'I'm looking for Alec Trevelyan. That's why I was at the Goldeneye facility and that was why myself and my colleague were diving down to this dish.'

'Trevelyan? Are you on some sort of weird pilgrimage or something? The guy has been dead for years.' Wade looked at her curiously, careful to keep his features perfectly neutral.

'Are you sure about that?' Ashleigh asked bluntly, and was gratified to see a blush of high colour appear on Wade's face. 'Didn't think so,' she said softly.

'How do you know about him?' Wade spluttered.

'I'll come to that later. All I want to know now is where the hell is he?'

'He ain't in Cuba, I know that.'

'I know he is. Seems the Brits know more than you in this case. Do you keep records of every person travelling in and out of the island? Particularly the ones who come through the illegal channels?' Ashleigh flushed angrily.

'He ain't in Cuba, honey, and believe me, I would know. And what hell business do you have with him anyway? He isn't the kind of man little girls should be chasing after.'

'I'm not a little girl, Wade. And I'm not chasing after him.'

'Seems to me that you are. And for the life of me I can't figure out why you'd want to.'

'Shall we start at the beginning, Wade?' Ashleigh asked, fighting to stay calm. 'I'm not questioning your authority on this island, but I do know Trevelyan, contrary to what you may think, and I know that it wouldn't be difficult for him to arrive here unannounced.'

Wade took a deep breath too, and nodded. 'The beginning. Right. Shoot.'

'My daughter has been kidnapped, Wade. I have a five year old daughter who a matter of weeks ago was taken from our home. I have received assistance in searching for her from my organisation, along with a not so subtle hint that there may be the involvement of a man who is seriously involved in the arms trade. It was one of his weapons, or rather one that he stole, that was involved in the assassination of Jacques Le Frenicet in Paris a few days ago. I'm sure news of that has filtered over here by now. I was there, Wade, I saw the entire thing happen.'

'What does this have to do with Cuba? And Goldeneye?'

'I'll come to that. This arms dealer is a man called Le Loup. Have you heard of him?'

'The Wolf? Yeah, I heard of him. But he's been quiet for the last ten years, not a peep heard out of him. I figured he died, or went underground.'

'He has links with Trevelyan. And I think if I find Trevelyan, then I might just find out where Le Loup is.'

Wade was silent for a few moments, concentrating on the road ahead of him. 'Le Loup isn't in Cuba. My guess is he's holed up somewhere in Europe. The KGB weren't too fond of him, and when the USSR broke down, he probably fled before someone could take out a revenge hit on him. The US weren't about to welcome him with open arms either, not when he'd taken so much of our new technology. In fact, as far as I am aware, and believe me when I say that I am aware of very many things, he has never set foot on this island.'

'Shit!' Ashleigh swore, slamming the palm of her hand against the edge of the dashboard. Frustration threatened to overwhelm her once more, as she saw yet another lead vanish in front of her.

'Hey, watch the vehicle,' Wade drawled. He glanced over thoughtfully at her. 'I can't help you with Le Loup, and I certainly can't help you with Trevelyan, in fact, I'm not even supposed to acknowledge the fact that he is alive, I know absolutely sweet F.A about that one, sugar, but if its an arms dealer you're after, then you've come to the right place.'

'But not the one I'm looking for, right?'

'Maybe not, but the way I see it, information could be more valuable to you right now. The guy you're looking for is based in Havana. And if there's anything going down, he's going to know about it. We've been trying to get our hands on him for years, but we can't pin anything on him. Not yet anyway.'

'Can't you just make something up? I thought that's what the Americans did best?' Ashleigh mocked lightly.

'I happen to like you, girl, don't make me change my mind.'

Ashleigh grinned. She felt a genuine affinity for Wade, and now he was giving her an opportunity. She felt the thrill of the chase stir her blood again, she was on the scent once more.

'So,' Wade asked as casually as he could. 'Trevelyan. How come you know he's alive? How come you've followed him to Cuba?'

The grin faded. Ashleigh looked at Wade, and knew that if she wanted him as an ally, then she'd have to share the truth. 'I think he's involved somehow in my daughter's kidnapping.'

'How come?'

'I lied to you when I told you my name was Ashleigh Kain. It's my maiden name. My name is Ashleigh Trevelyan.' She placed special emphasis on the three syllables of her surname.

Wade stared at her. Ashleigh wondered if she should reach for the steering wheel, but decided to break the silence instead.

'Alec Trevelyan is my husband, Wade. I think he knows what has happened to _our_ daughter.' Ashleigh looked at Jack Wade steadily. 'Now, do you have a problem with that, or do I need to start walking again?'

For once in his life, Jack Wade couldn't think of an answer. He merely nodded dumbly, settled his cap more firmly on his sweating head, and decided to concentrate very hard on the road ahead.


	27. Chapter Twenty Six

An Alec chapter for you all. Hope you enjoy it. I plan to have a weekend writing since I have two whole days off! Sorry for the delay, work has been hectic - but I have delivered my first baby. So things are going well. Enjoy!

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She was suffocating him with that musky perfume she insisted on wearing. It was a living presence in the room, surrounding him, choking him, clogging up his senses.

If she came near him one more time, he would not be responsible for his actions.

Alec Trevelyan slumped in his chair, his back, although long healed, protesting slightly at the awkward posture. He stroked his chin, grimacing at the feel of a few days stubble under his fingers. He badly needed a shave, but right now, he didn't care. He stared moodily at the room, pointedly ignoring its other occupant.

It had the look of a futuristic office. Sleek looking machines whirred and buzzed in the corner, a large flat screen television dominated one wall. Something beeped in the corner, and he glanced over at it, irritated by the small noise.

He had been here for too long. He was allowed to leave whenever he wanted, returning to the hotel where he was sleeping, but the freedom was with a price. If he ran, if he left the island, if he simply vanished into thin area, Natasha would die.

He took a deep breath and tried to picture his daughter in his mind. It was always the same, first he would think of her dark cloud of hair, hair that was soft and silky under his rough fingers, hair that would tickle his chin when she sat in his lap, completely trusting him, unable to see anything but the good in him, because he was her father. Her hair was her mother's and once, Alec had foolishly suggested to Ashleigh that she should grow her hair like Natasha's, he knew that it would be the same, thick, slightly waving and heavy, so heavy, but Ashleigh had looked at him like he was mad, and point blank refused.

Next he would look past her hair, and see Natasha's eyes. His eyes. Green, cool, and framed by thick, blunt lashes. He had seen those eyes flash in anger, in one of her few tantrums, and he had seen her look lovingly and adoringly at him.

He loved her with a fervour he didn't know could exist. She was his. His daughter, his blood, the only family he had in the world.

And the bastard Merkalov had taken her, and used that love against him.

When he had first met Ashleigh, he had refused to fall in love with her. Love was too dangerous, better to use a woman, and then discard her before the feelings could develop too far. Ashleigh had changed that. He had felt himself slipping deeper into the abyss, finding the need for her too strong, too demanding, but unable to help himself. He had tried telling himself that she wasn't worth it, any argument that he could think of to try to convince himself that it was wrong. She wasn't beautiful enough. She was English. She was his friend's daughter.

And oh how that last excuse had mocked him.

He wouldn't think of Ashleigh now.

'Penny for them?' a cooing voice interrupted his thoughts.

He looked up distastefully at the woman. In this close a proximity to him, her perfume seemed even stronger, he could taste it in his mouth, and he resisted the urge to gag.

'I don't sell my secrets,' he said dismissively.

She caught onto the subtle insult and bristled, walking away.

His fingers rapped out a tattoo on the edge of the desk, the waiting was getting to him more than he wanted to admit.

'Can you stop that?' the woman snapped at him.

'If you don't like it, leave,' he snapped back. She glared at him, but stayed put, contenting herself with a few muttered comments.

It was cool in the office, almost too cool. The woman shivered, and wrapped her arms around herself.

'Look, can't we start again?' she tried, a tentative smile on her face.

'No.'

'Oh don't be like that,' she laughed, a silvery sound that rippled through the room. 'We're going to be working together, we can at least attempt to get on.'

'No, we don't have to attempt anything,' he leant back and closed his eyes. He hadn't been sleeping very well, and the dreams, well, the dreams were becoming more frequent.

When he opened his eyes, she was once more standing over him. He looked up at her, taking in the figure hugging black wrap over dress, the olive skin, the brilliant green eyes. Her brown curls were caught back, showing off the bone structure of her face. There was no denying it, she was a beautiful woman, but he didn't want her anywhere near him.

'You and I could be a good team,' she purred, leaning over him, her long fingers stroking the unscarred side of his face. The angle afforded him a good view of her cleavage, and he supposed that was the point.

He caught her arm. 'Is that what you said to Bond?'

Jasmin Van Dien struggled in his grip. 'It wasn't like that,' she protested, trying to pry his fingers off her wrist.

'Don't tell me, you actually had feelings for him.'

'No! Yes! I did care for him. He was good looking, it could have been a lot worse.'

He let her go, almost throwing her backwards in his viciousness. 'And what do you want from me?'

Jasmin looked at him coolly. 'I thought we could be friends.'

'Is that all?'

She flushed, the colour creeping up her throat to darken her face. 'I just thought that perhaps, we could both do with an ally.'

'Oh I see. Get me on your side, and then what? We take on Le Loup? You and me together, you scratch my back, and I'll scratch yours,' the flush deepened on her face, and he smiled darkly. 'That was exactly your plan, wasn't it?'

'I like to keep my options open,' she spat at him.

'Did you offer to be an ally to my wife?'

'Ashleigh?' Jasmin laughed contemptuously. 'She didn't need an ally, she needed someone to hold her hand throughout this all. If it hadn't been for me, she'd still be running around Paris like a headless chicken.'

Jasmin leant over him again. 'She's so obsessed with finding you that she can't see beyond the end of her own nose. She's just floundering in the water, hoping someone will tell her what to do next.'

'So where is she now?' Alec asked.

'Probably with the Americans. It was easy enough to convince her that I was dead - the Americans will just confirm it to her once they find the body.'

'Body?' Alec frowned.

'Some local girl. Same height, similar hair. It was easy enough, quick and quite painless I imagine. A few strategically placed slashes, and you have a body.' Jasmin reached up to adjust a lock of hair that had escaped from her hair clip. 'I doubt she'll be missed.'

Alec felt disgust rising in him. He felt the urge to hit this woman and he pushed it down, but it was a close called thing. His hands clenched into fists and he had to look away from the bitch. He tried to focus on the positive, if Ashleigh was with the Americans, then she was safe. And out of his way. With any luck, they'd send her back to England.

Jasmin scowled at him. 'There's no need to look so outraged. I'm sure you've done much worse in your time. In fact, I know you have,' she laughed again.

The sound grated on Alec's already raw nerves. He stood, his movements jerking and tense. He reached out for the edge of the desk to steady himself, hating the fact he showed any sign of weakness in front of Van Dien.

'Its time to realise that you're playing with real men now,' he said harshly. 'This may be just fooling around for you, but Le Loup is playing a very deadly game. If you cross him, he'll kill you without thinking. If you cross me, I'll kill you without a moment's hesitation. Remember that, "Vixen".'

She flinched visibly, but stood her ground. 'I've killed before,' she said defiantly. 'I fooled MI6 for long enough. I'm not some rookie agent, I've been doing this for years.'

'Then I would expect you to be more subtle about it,' Alec spat, turning his back on her.

She threw herself at him, clawing at his back, he turned and grabbed her round the waist, his free hand managing to snag both of her wrists. He held close, bringing his scarred face close to his, and he saw her recoil from him.

'You want me, do you?' he hissed.

'Never,' she shrieked, writhing in his arms. He could feel her body pressed the length of his, but he felt nothing for it. 'I wouldn't want you if you were the last man on Earth!'

He laughed, cruelly, straight into her face. 'You earn power, Vixen, remember that. But you're not the first woman to think she could earn it on her back and by spreading her legs. You certainly won't be the last. You're an intelligent woman, try using your under worked brain rather than your over worked body. You'll get much further in this world.'

'What the hell would you know about it?' she said viciously.

'Because I'd been with women like you. More than I care to think about.'

'Before or after you married your wife?' she spat the last two words out as insultingly as she could, and was infuriated even more when he laughed again.

'My wife,' he said, his voice soft, almost a caress, 'my wife does not like to be fooled, Van Dien, and when she discovers that you're very much alive, and very much involved with her daughter's kidnapping, she'll destroy you.'

Jasmin snorted derisively, and Alec increased the pressure. 'Perhaps I'll get to you first.'

He was satisfied to see a flicker of fear in Jasmin's eyes. He had met too many women like her, too many who thought that power came from sex, and not from respect. Ashleigh had known that respect meant more, and she had struggled hard to progress in her chosen career, devoting her time and energy to being the best agent that she could be. When she had met him, they had ended up in bed quickly, and he knew it had been for pleasure, not for what she could gain from him.

She was always creeping into his thoughts. He wanted her as far away as possible from him. He didn't want her interrupting what he had to do.

Jasmin saw his eyes darken, and knew that his thoughts were far from her. She took the opportunity to wrench herself away, her breathing fast and shallow. Her wrists ached, she massaged them to try to get the circulation going again. He was a bastard, but she wasn't convinced that Alec Trevelyan was a dangerous man.

She stalked across the room, and snatched an envelope from her bag. She threw it down on the desk nearest to him with all the contempt she could muster. 'I've worked for Le Loup for a long time,' she said angrily, 'and I'm under his protection. Touch me again, and I'll…'

'What?' he interrupted with a smirk on his face. 'You'll tell on me?'

She flushed furiously, and stabbed her scarlet painted nail down onto the envelope. 'This is the address you need. Le Loup wants it down as quickly as possible. If not, he asked me to tell you that your daughter would suffer,' Jasmin smiled nastily. 'So I wouldn't push me, Janus, I'm just dying for an excuse to have a very long conversation with Le Loup about you.'

She snatched up her bag and flounced from the room. Alec watched her go, grateful that he didn't have to open up the envelope with her in the room.

The helplessness he was feeling more and more often swamped over him again. He turned the envelope over in his hands, knowing that he was powerless to refuse what he had been asked to do.

Powerless. It was a new emotion for Alec Trevelyan.


	28. Chapter Twenty Seven

Another chapter, another update. Thank you for all your reviews and welcome to my new readers.

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Wen Huang had lived in Cuba since he had fled China nearly thirty years previously when he had learnt there was a warrant out for his death, his execution. He had taken advantage of an unfortunate situation, and had simply swapped one Communist regime for another.

To be honest, he rather preferred living under Fidel Castro. The perks were significantly better.

Huang had brought his wife with him to the island, and until her peaceful death two years ago, they had been content in their strange life. Now Huang spent his days brokering new deals, and preparing to pass on his thriving business to his two healthy, brawny, but terribly brash sons. He feared for their lives. He knew they were not as good as the sons as he had wished for, but they were his sons. They would inherit his world.

Huang made a good living selling weaponry. His outlook was a simple one, and one that did not interfere with his Buddhist principles. Huang did not kill. He merely was a tradesman who provided weapons for others. His weapons were the finest available, but he never laid hands upon them. To touch them would be to invite Death into his home, and he was not prepared to do that. He was not a killer, the men who fired his weapons were the killers. Did one call the man who made the violin a musician?

His successful business was ran from a non descript apartment building in a less than exclusive part of Havana. The buildings were ramshackle, and several were made from wood. Rats scurried down the dark, dank alleyways that ran between the buildings, and people only found their way there if they had a purpose.

Huang sat in his chair, a cup of green tea in front of him. It was his habit to drink a cup a day, in deference to his wife's preferences, and since her death, he had not found the strength to break the tradition. He was Chinese, it was expected of him.

And he looked Chinese too. He had aged in the time since he had arrived on the island, his gleaming black hair had turned a startling shade of white, as had his neat, pointed beard. But the look in his narrow eyes was still as sharp as ever, and his gestures were still filled with a refined elegance. Wen Huang had a reputation on this island, and it was a rare man who did not fear retribution from him and his own if they crossed him.

He sat quietly, sipping his tea, and contemplating the white feather on the table in front of him. It had arrived that morning, in a plain envelope with just his name scrawled on the front. For some reason, it offended him, and he used the edge of the envelope to push it further away from him. He was even more unnerved when he realised that the simple object also frightened him. There was magic in the feather, and Huang was a man who had been raised on stories of magic and sorcerers who could steal a man's soul. There was a devil abroad that night, a jinn, an evil spirit.

He didn't know how long he sat there, but when the door opened, he started slightly. Immediately, he was ashamed of himself, furious to have shown weakness in front of the stranger.

The tall blond man entered the room silently, taking no notice of the old man's surprise. He was handsome, the old man supposed, but there was a cruel set to the mouth, and a coldness in the green eyes.

The old man held back a gasp as the younger man turned to him. The face was scarred, running from the hairline, down the temple and the cheek and disappearing under the collar of his shirt. The man hesitated, realising what Huang was staring at, and he stood still, letting the man look. It made no difference to him how long this took.

Huang tore his eyes from the scars and composed himself. There was no sense in either embarrassing himself, or showing any fear of this man. But against his will, his eyes flickered to the damaged skin once more, and his thoughts once more turned to devils and evil spirits.

Without being asked, Alec drew back a chair, and sat opposite Huang. The room was silent as they stared at each other.

'Why are you here?' Huang asked finally, calmly, his voice betraying nothing but the still distinct accent of the country of his birth.

Alec reached into his jacket, and in answer, he placed his gun upon the table. The Browning DA glinted dully in the faint light of the room.

Huang sighed. 'I have been expecting this.'

'You knew I was coming?' Alec asked, his fingers lightly brushing over the barrel of the gun.

'No. Death. I have been expecting death for many years now. It was only a matter of time.'

'Yes,' Alec said simply, not knowing what else to say.

Huang picked up the Browning, lightly turning it over in his hand. 'You have chosen well,' he offered, his finger exploring the long trigger guard. 'The Hi-Power is too unpredictable. The mechanism often jams.'

'Its served me well,' Alec said, drawing the weapon back across the table towards him.

'And tonight it will again.' Huang said with a stoical shrug of his shoulders.

'I'm sorry,' Alec said, and was surprised to find that he genuinely was remorseful. 'My quarrel isn't with you but…'

'You have no choice.' Huang nodded sagely. 'I understand.'

Alec shrugged.

'Does it…' Huang cleared his throat. 'Does it have to be now?'

'Soon.'

'Is there time for a drink?'

'I suppose.'

Huang got to his feet, grateful that they supported him. He didn't want to show fear, he had been expecting this too long to be fearful, but he was an old man, and not as strong as he once had been. He made his way over to a small cupboard, and pulled a bottle of whiskey and two slightly dusty glasses out. The clink of glass on glass seemed very loud in the hot, silent room. A ceiling fan feebly pushed the stifling heat around, an open window offered no relief.

'How did you get in?' Huang asked, as he sipped his drink.

'Your staff were easily persuaded that I had an appointment.'

'I must choose my men more carefully in future,' Huang murmured, letting the irony of the statement hang in the air.

'Its so difficult to find good help these days,' Alec mocked gently. Huang watched him carefully, noticing the man's discomfort.

'If this is not your choice, then tell me, who sent you?'

For a moment, Alec hesitated, and then reached once more into the inside pocket of his suit jacket. He threw a shining piece of metal across the table, and Huang picked it up carefully. His lips pursed.

'I had hoped that I had beaten him,' Huang sighed, dropping the gold ring to the table. It was in the style of a signet ring, the flattened oval showing a stylistic wolf's head in profile. It was Le Loup's symbol, and all men who were loyal to him wore his ring. 'I had hoped that I had escaped his notice.'

'You're too powerful for him to ignore,' Alec pocketed the ring once more.

'You flatter me.'

'I don't flatter.'

Huang's eyes narrowed. 'You don't like Le Loup?'

'Does anyone?' Alec picked up his glass, and threw half the liquid down his throat. It burned, and he relished the sensation.

'They respect him. But you don't. So why do you work for him?'

'He has something of mine. While he has it, I work for him. Doesn't mean that I have to like it.'

The two men sat in silence, the fan above them cutting through the humid air. Huang sighed suddenly, closing his eyes.

'I wish I had had more time to prepare.'

A dark smile flickered on Alec's lips. 'If you had time to prepare, you would have had time to run.'

For a moment the smile echoed on Huang's face. 'Yes. That is true. But what I meant, I have regrets. Many regrets. My sons… my sons are weak. I have worked many years, and now the respect I have worked hard for will be destroyed. My sons, they want the power, the respect, and the glory, the money, but not the work. They are weak. They will gamble it away. They will brag, and boast, and throw it all away on alcohol and whores.'

Huang paused, and there was a cold bleak look on his face. 'They will be dead within the year.'

Alec nodded, unsure of what to say. There was no room for sympathy here, and the old man didn't want any, that much was clear. His attention was caught by the feather on the table. Huang noticed his interest.

'I don't understand that,' he said, almost angrily, gesturing at the feather. 'It is an omen of some sort, something evil.'

'You're closer than you think,' Alec murmured. 'Le Loup likes to play games. It's his way of marking you. He sent one to me too…' Alec realised he'd let himself say too much, and he brushed the feather away.

'This 'something' he has of yours. It is precious to you?'

'My daughter.'

'Ah,' Huang reached into his pocket, and removed a cigar, a cutter and a lighter. 'She is young?'

'A child.'

'You think he will harm her?'

Alec's hand tightened on his glass, and Huang realised he had gone too far. He drew once on the now lit cigar and let the smoke curl around the inside of his mouth before exhaling slowly.

'Is it to be now?' he asked.

Alec nodded, reaching for the gun. Huang paled, but he stood easily, moving to the centre of the room. He struggled to his knees, his arthritic knees protesting.

'I had hoped that the end would not come like this,' he said briefly.

Alec moved behind him, gun in hand. He heard the faintest whisper, knew the old man was saying his final words, be it to his god, or to himself. The click as Alec eased back the safety seemed loud in the airless room.

He raised the gun, pressing it against the back of Huang's head. The position was too familiar, this wasn't the first time he had stood like this, gun in hand.

He felt panic rising in him, and forced it down, knowing that there was no way to refuse this duty. He hadn't been able to refuse before…

'I am ready,' Huang said quietly.

So am I, thought Alec.


	29. Chapter Twenty Eight

Instead of spending hours writing this, which I enjoy and relish, I have to spend hours writing essays. Which I don't enjoy. With or without relish.

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Ashleigh swallowed hard as she realised that she was very far away from the pleasant tourist traps of Havana. In the dark alleyway she picked her way over the remains of food, rubbish and filth, and held her breath against the stench. The air seemed to coat her skin with a fine layer of dirt and she resisted the urge to rub frantically at her bare arms.

She was aware of the eyes watching her from the shadows, and subconsciously threw her head back arrogantly. Let them watch her, if any of them tried anything, well, they'd regret it. She was in a dark mood.

Wade had dropped her at the beach house, still unsure what to make of her. He had reached for her hand as she had tried to slip out of the Jeep, and pulled her back.

'You're really Trevelyan's wife?' he had asked quietly.

She had looked away then, not trusting herself to make eye contact in case it broke her. 'Yes, but please, try not to hold it against me.'

He had been confused, Ashleigh had known that. He had looked at her, an English spy, and tried to connect that with his feelings for Janus.

'You don't seem surprised,' Ashleigh had said slightly archly, 'about Alec being alive.'

'Why should I be?' Wade had said, and this time he had refused to meet her eyes. 'I knew he was alive, and I thought I knew him, and if you'll excuse me for saying, I don't know you from Adam, or Eve,' he amended quickly. He had slid a hand under his cap to rub his head. 'I guess what I'm trying to say is that nothing surprises me in this business. What folks do is their own concern.'

Ashleigh had nodded, acknowledging his words, but unable to say anything.

'Maybe he's changed,' Wade had said slowly, but had hurried on when he saw the frantic gratitude flare in Ashleigh's eyes, 'and maybe he hasn't. I know him by reputation, and I've seen what he is capable of. I followed him around Russia on that damned train of his, and I was the one who sorted out the mess that he left behind. Oh he never did any of the dirty work himself, but I know he's ruthless, and without a conscience. Least I never saw it. I saw what happened in Cuba and I spoke to Bond afterwards…'

'Bond?' Ashleigh had interrupted with a harsh laugh. 'He can hardly be described as an unbiased character witness, can he?'

Wade had looked at her, long and calmly. 'I don't know what you think of Bond, but I happen to know him, and I trust him. And you know that trust is a rare thing in our world. Bond was there during Goldeneye and you weren't. So you only have your husband's word for it.'

Wade had paused. He wasn't an unkind man, and he had seen the tension rise in Ashleigh's body, the way her fists had clenched, a faint flicker in the line of her jaw. He had leant out of the jeep, reaching for her arm with a large beefy hand and had squeezed it.

'He's your husband, honey. But I'm guessing you have some serious doubts about him.'

'You can guess all you want, Wade,' she had said dully.

For a moment, he had thought she was going to say more, and when he realised she wasn't, he had let go of her arm.

She had been trying not to shake. Wade's words had cut deep, and she feared that in doing so he had exposed her somehow, and that all her doubts and terror would come flooding out.

'You love him?' he had asked bluntly.

'I thought I did,' she had whispered truthfully, the pain of the statement tearing through her. She knew she was being melodramatic, but she had no way of describing the strange blend of hatred and love that she now associated with Alec.

'He love you?'

She had almost snorted. 'I thought that too,' she had said harshly.

'He's a fool to cross you, sweetheart,' Wade had assured her. 'Love of a good woman is the one thing that can redeem a man.'

Yes, Ashleigh had thought bitterly, you perhaps. But not Alec. Alec was only out for what he could get. She had given him a daughter, and would perhaps have given him other children if Natasha hadn't been taken. Family was what Alec wanted, blood and roots. Ashleigh was dispensable.

'You get him,' Wade had told her. 'You get him, and you find your daughter.

She didn't know what he had meant by 'get him'. She hadn't dared to ask. She already had her own ideas on what 'get him' meant, and she was disturbed by her own thoughts.

Alec believed that revenge was sweet. Ashleigh wanted to find out how sweet.

This was the thought that drove her onwards through the darkened alley. It was getting late in the evening and the city was beginning to wake up after the heat of the day. In the distance she could hear music, growing steadily louder all the time and she was grateful for it.

The apartment block was ramshackle, battered and bruised. Garbage was strewn up against the side of the building, almost all the windows were boarded up, except for a few on the first floor. She looked up at these windows, and saw flickers of light from behind them. On the ground floor, there was nothing but another boarded up window, and a narrow wooden door with a cracked panel. Ashleigh looked the building up and down once more, furious with the chain of events that had led her to this.

She rapped her knuckles hard against the door.

She heard feet behind it, a pause, and the door opened a crack.

'What do you want?' a cruel voice asked.

'Supplies,' she said coldly.

'Ain't none here.'

'Not what the Americans tell me,' Ashleigh growled.

'None of that shit here,' the man repeated and made to move the door. Ashleigh moved quickly, slamming her shoulder against it, using her advantage of being on the outside of the door to push it open once more.

She heard swearing behind the door, and doubled her efforts. She was strong for her size, but she felt the sweat beginning to break out of her skin as she strained against the wood.

'I was told you had the best armoury outside of the Middle East here,' Ashleigh snapped. 'I have the cash, if that's the issue.'

'Dollars?' the weight behind the door suddenly shifted.

'Dollars. Sterling. Euros. Yen, if that's what you want.'

'How much?'

'I pay for quality, not quantity.'

The door opened. The man standing there was tall, lean and dressed in a black leather jacket and black jeans. He had a couple of days stubble on his face, and was evidently attempting to cultivate his bad boy status. Ashleigh looked him up and down.

'I want to talk to Huang,' she said, attempting to stare him down.

'No one talks to Huang. You talk to me,' the man said, putting his arm across the door, blocking Ashleigh's way. She narrowed her eyes, and her hand twitched towards her concealed weapon, but she stopped, just in time.

Instead she forced a smile onto her face. 'I'm sure we can come to some arrangement,' she said huskily, resting her hand lightly on his arm.

The man glanced down at the small hand on his arm and then at the woman. Tailored grey shorts stopped at her knees, revealing strong, smooth calves. The black camisole she wore had thick straps that showed off narrow shoulders. The camisole was empire line, fitted at the bust, and then flowing loosely down over her stomach and hips. The clothes looked expensive, he decided. She looked expensive.

'Maybe,' he said throatily. 'What have you got in mind?'

She smiled languorously. 'Why don't we step inside and I'll show you.'

She took a step forward, and the arm moved away.

'There's a good boy,' she murmured, deliberately slinking closer.

'Who the hell are you?'

Ashleigh glanced up at the new voice, and swore silently. She could just see inside to a hallway, with a narrow set of stairs leading to another level. Coming down the stairs was another man, slightly older, but just as greasy looking. He too looked Chinese in origin, with heavy brows, and limp black hair falling messily to his shoulders.

'I heard you've got the best in town,' Ashleigh said haughtily.

'No drugs here,' the guy said, squinting darkly at her.

'I'm not talking about drugs,' Ashleigh said with more than a hint of disdain in her voice. 'You know what I'm after. I'm interested in… working with you, shall we say?'

'In what way?' the older man asked. The other man, who was little more than a teenager stood awkwardly to one side, avoiding all eye contact.

Ashleigh decided a new tact might have to be developed. 'I work for a gentleman in London. He's interested in your merchandise, and would like to see if it lives up to its reputation.' A little bit of flattery wouldn't go amiss. 'If I'm happy with what I see, then I have his permission to organise a rather large deal.'

Ashleigh glanced around at the alleyway. 'I'd rather not discuss this here. Shall we go inside?'

'Your watch.' The older man gestured at her wrist.

'Excuse me?' Ashleigh asked coldly, her hand wrapping around her watch defensively.

'Give me your watch.'

'Why?'

'I like it.'

'So buy one.' Ashleigh tilted her chin defiantly.

'No watch, no entry.'

'Fine,' Ashleigh said, turning away. 'Your loss,' she said idly, shrugging her shoulders.

The two men glanced at each other. 'You have cash on you?' the younger man asked.

'Inside,' Ashleigh said. 'I'll show you inside.'

Greed overcame security. The two men let Ashleigh step inside. She reached into her pocket and pulled out a leather wallet. She held it open, letting them see the stack of notes in there. She pulled out a few, and tossed them onto the floor of the hallway. The younger man fell eagerly onto them, scooping them up and into his pockets. The older man shut the door.

'My father is a busy man,' Huang Jr. said. 'You will deal with me, and me alone. My brother will be witness.' He jerked his head towards the younger boy. Ashleigh smiled sweetly at him.

'My employer would really rather I spoke to your father. I'm sure between the three of you, you should be able to broker a deal that will be satisfactory to all of us.'

'You will deal with me!' Huang Jr. almost howled, and Ashleigh caught the scent of rum, as his fetid breath washed over her. She managed not to flinch.

'Fine.' Ashleigh said darkly. 'Then I suggest we conduct our deal somewhere a little more business like.'

Huang Jr. glared at her once more, but if he was trying to intimidate her, then he had chosen the wrong woman, Ashleigh decided. She was just about to stalk past them when a gunshot rang out above them.

'Shit,' Ashleigh swore, ducking quickly, hands over her head. She pressed herself against wall, resisting the urge to once more draw her weapon.

The two Huang boys seemed startled for a moment, almost frozen to the spot. Then with a shout of fear and rage, they both moved, sprinting up the stairs, Ashleigh close behind them.

The elder Huang Jr threw open the door to a room lit only by candles. It was dark and filled with shadows, and Ashleigh, trapped behind the two men, struggled to see what they were staring at.

She was about to find out.

Huang Jr turned, murder in his eyes. Reaching out, he grabbed Ashleigh by the arms, forcibly throwing her into the room.

She landed hard, hitting the coarse wooden floorboards awkwardly. For a second, she lay winded, and then turning, she stifled a scream.

Less than a foot beside her lay an old man. His rapidly dulling blue eyes stared unseeingly at her, flecks of dust already beginning to settle on his drying corneas. He was Chinese in appearance and Ashleigh quickly noted the resemblance he bore to the two greasy young men.

'My father!' Huang Jr. screamed at her, gesturing angrily with a suddenly appeared weapon. 'My father!' he repeated, jabbing the barrel of the gun into her face.

Ashleigh risked glancing down again. The old man was lying flat on his stomach, his head turned to the right. His once pure white hair was now vivid red in places as blood soaked the fragile strands. He was very definitely dead, Ashleigh didn't need to be a doctor to make that assessment. A grapefruit size hole was blown out of the back of his skull, Ashleigh could make out delicate, bloodstained tissue beneath the shattered bone. The urge to vomit rose, she had seen death too much, but rarely in this much detail.

'You!' Huang Jr. shouted once more, his voice louder than ever in the silent room. The younger Huang Jr. looked shellshocked, his face a pale green, and he staggered slightly, before finding support in the frame of the door.

'You did this!' Huang howled again, stalking across the room towards. 'You did this!'

'How?' Ashleigh stammered, pushing herself backwards across the floor, away from Huang Jr, away from the body she presumed was Huang Sr. 'How? I've only just arrived. I've been with you the entire time.'

'That English bastard!' Huang Jr. was gone beyond reason or rationale. 'You work with him! The scarred bastard!'

Scarred? Ashleigh's mind frantically took in this detail. Scarred? Alec? Had he been here.

'What scarred bas-, what scarred man?' Ashleigh changed her words quickly.

'The blond man, your boss! He was here, he killed my father. Now, I kill you,' the gun was once more pointing at Ashleigh's head.

She had to act quickly. She leapt to her feet, and grabbed the nearest chair. Knowing it would be useless as a shield, she took advantage of the Huang brothers' bereaved state and dashed across the room swinging the chair wildly. As her attack came closer, the brothers backed off, stepping out of the room. Ashleigh seized her chance, and putting all her strength behind it, threw the chair hard at them.

It worked, she thought for the briefest second, as the brothers threw themselves backwards, and halfway down the stairs. Ashleigh slammed the door shut hard, turning the key in the lock and scanned the room, looking for something, anything that she could use to blockade the door.

Her eyes fell on Huang's body. She paused. She couldn't.

Could she?

Respect for the dead overcame Ashleigh's need for a plan. Swallowing hard, she saw she only had one escape route. The window.

It had been left open, common enough in the stifling heat. With a catlike leap, Ashleigh sprang up onto the sill, one hand gripping the wood above her head. There was another alleyway ran beneath the window, again rubbish strewn and only half lit. Ashleigh glanced up. A fire escape, narrow and ladder like led up to the roof and Ashleigh half heartedly reached for it. It was at least a foot above her reach, and she sighed softly, knowing her only option would be to jump. A loud bang made her jump, and she realised that the brothers had decided to kick the door in. She steadied herself, estimating that it was at least twelve feet to the ground below.

Gracefully, she jumped, landing in a crouch in the middle of the alleyway. She glanced down at her simple flip flops and smiled to herself, not the most ideal shoes to be jumping in.

Music was coming from beyond the alleyway, along with the sounds of people revelling. She heard the crash of wood coming from the open window above her head, and she stood, quickly checking that she hadn't damaged her feet or legs in any way, and with a final glance above her, she darted into the night, towards the music, towards people and away from death.

She had no doubt that they would be after her. And no doubt that they would kill her when they caught her. Her plan was simple. Don't get caught.

High above her on the roof, Alec watched her run. He too had made his escape through the window, but had chosen the fire escape route, dragging the metal ladder up after him to prevent anyone following.

His face was impassive as he stared after his wife as she disappeared into the distance. Reaching into his jacket, he took out his weapon once more and idly checked the clip. Satisfied, he walked to the edge of the roof, and leapt to the next adjoining building.

Below him, voices were raised as they realised the woman had made her escape.

The hunt was on.


	30. Chapter Twenty Nine

Thank you for all your reviews - I can't believe I've made it past the 100 mark! Was worried you wouldn't like the last chapter, but thankfully, no harsh words (yet!). I'm writing a lot at the moment so the story is motoring on. I'm a bit worried that I'm supposed to be working towards some sort of climax, and yet I keep finding more things to add to the story! I've also just finished the last Cuba chapter, so the story will be moving to another continent soon.

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The carnival was loud, crowded, and filled with people dancing and singing along loudly to the music. It appeared to be mainly filled with locals, beautiful bronzed people with dark curls that moved with a passion to the music while the slightly reserved and confused tourists hovered at the fringes, wondering how they could join in, and more importantly, should they?

Ashleigh was swept along swiftly, caught in the current of the dancers and the music, and if anyone noticed that she kept looking back over her shoulder, no one mentioned anything. Ashleigh smiled, and nodded politely, and managed to evade the hands that tried to entice her closer, tried to pull her into the dance, dodging the invitations lightly and nimbly.

She would be followed, she knew that, and when she caught a glimpse of a leather jacket, she felt a cold sweat break out on her skin.

She had been stupid, no doubt about that. She was too out of practise for this, it had been too long. And yet she had still decided that she could cope with manipulating her way into a dangerous situation and facing a pair of known arms dealers by herself and thinking that she would be able to flirt her way out of any awkward situation.

She was too old for all of this. Especially the flirtation. She had been married for six years. She wasn't sure she still had the ability to flirt. She managed a weak smile to herself. It fell immediately. The image of the old man's body would stay with her for some time. She guessed that he had been the Huang that Wade had told her about. Wade had been kind about the old man, and Ashleigh had guessed that actually, he had had a lot of respect for the man, even if they were on opposite sides.

It was something she had learnt from her career. You could sometimes end up liking your enemies. They weren't all archetypical villains, or down and out thugs, sometimes they were just people scratching a living in a somewhat illegal manner. Even the ones who had done terrible things could come across as being charming, intelligent, fascinating people.

Sometimes you fell in love with them.

And sometimes, you really wished you hadn't.

Ashleigh felt the crowd getting closer, pressing in around her, and she took several deep breaths. She didn't like large groups of people, even though there was safety in numbers, she felt cramped, short of air, and verging on panicking. She couldn't make out anything behind her, couldn't see individuals, just a blurring mass of colour. Who knew where the pair in the leather jackets were?

A hand groped at her waist and she jerked away, snarling viciously at the owner of the wandering hand. 'Back off. Or you'll get more than a slap in the face.'

The man continued to leer at her, his hand snaking around her. He encountered cold metal, and Ashleigh saw him blanch visibly beneath his sallow skin. 'Back off, now,' she repeated coldly.

He did.

The crowd was thinning out now, and moving into a larger area. From the smell of salt in the air, Ashleigh guessed they were close to the sea, but there were other smells too, of fried food, and cigarette smoke tinged with a hint of something slightly less legal than tobacco. Bright lights were ahead, as well as coloured tents, small, painted huts and large, loud mechanical rides.

The carnival was becoming a fairground. The people were dispersing, disappearing towards rides, food stalls, still dancing to the music. Ashleigh glanced quickly around. The fair was vaguely organised in aisles, long corridors lined with stalls and the small wooden shacks. Voices called and shouted from every angle, it was organised chaos.

Teenagers giggled and kissed in front of her, moving in packs of at least ten, the music seemed louder than ever, and the bright lights from the rides and the vividly coloured electric lanterns that were draped from pillar to post blinded her for a moment.

She stumbled forward, suddenly disorientated. She prayed that she was far ahead of anyone who might be after her, it would be far too easy for that anyone to creep up on her right now.

It was the last place she expected to be. That morning she had been held in a secret American base, yesterday she had watched the murder of the partner who had been assigned to her.

It was surreal. Too surreal. It seemed like there was a metal band around her head, slowly being tightened, creating a godawful headache. She stumbled forward, knowing that the best course of action was still to lose herself in the crowd. There was no point in being an easy target. With this thought, she pushed forward into the nearest group of people and headed down one of the rough aisles.

If she ignored the smell of friend sea food, there was a chance she might not throw up.

A sharp bony hand suddenly clamped onto Ashleigh's shoulder, and lost as she was in the swirl of bright lights and the music, Ashleigh came close to crying out in fright. She turned, one hand already reaching for the alien one gripping tightly onto her, hoping to pry it off. She only just managed not to reach for her weapon. Swallowing hard, Ashleigh found herself staring into a pair of cruel, watching blue eyes.

The fortune teller had picked out the young woman as she had fought her way through the crowd, stumbling through the lines of tents and stalls, always searching, always looking as if she wanted to find something, and the fortune teller, Karina, felt as if she could tell her.

'You. You come with me,' she ordered, trying to drag Ashleigh into the nearest tent, a gaudy affair made of purple fabric and crudely stitched gold moons and stars.

Ashleigh took one look at the wild staring eyes, the dark red gypsy skirt and the ragged headscarf tied around the woman's hair and decided that no, actually, this would be a really bad idea in normal circumstances let alone in her present situation. She tried to prise the woman's hand away but the fortune teller's grip was stronger than Ashleigh could have guessed and as Ashleigh tried to pull away, it clenched even tighter. 'I'm sorry, but no,' Ashleigh said firmly. 'I really don't have the time for this.'

Her protests were ignored as the woman seemed to look her up and down. 'You come, and you will learn,' the fortune teller said, as if that decided the matter.

Ashleigh stopped trying to prise the hand off. She stared at the woman, and a chill travelled the length of her spine as if someone had just walked over her grave. 'I can't…' she tried once again, but it sounded feeble even to Ashleigh's ears.

A sudden movement in the crowd caught Ashleigh's attention and in the distance, she saw a dark man wearing a leather jacket trying to force his way past a strolling couple. Ashleigh glanced down at the fortune teller, and made her decision.

'Okay,' she said softly.

The fortune teller nodded as if she had never doubted Ashleigh's decision. She pushed the flap of the tent over, and gestured for Ashleigh to enter first. Ducking to avoid the string of fairy lights that marked the entrance, Ashleigh found herself in the tent.

In the small space the thick smoke of incense was thick and shrouding making Ashleigh's eyes water. The room was filled with what she could only presume were fortune telling artefacts, including a grubby, finger print smudged crystal ball and far more disconcertingly, what appeared to be a real human skull with a candle stuck to the crown of it. For a moment, Ashleigh thought she had stumbled into a bad movie.

'Sit.'

A long bony finger was pointed at a rickety chair, placed in front of an equally rickity and unstable looking table. The navy tablecloth was stitched with silver thread, making a strange, ornate pattern. As Ashleigh stared at it, she realised it was a map of the night sky. Instinctively she sought out the Pole Star, running her finger over the delicate guiding star, almost obliterated by one of the many burn holes that littered the cloth.

The fortune teller, Karina, sat gracefully opposite Ashleigh. She could have been anything from her late thirties to her mid seventies, it was just impossible to tell. In her hands were a battered pack of cards, dog eared and yellowed from age and use. She shuffled them with practised ease, they seemed to dance and flow between her hands.

Karina slid them across the table. 'Cut them.'

With a confidence that belied how she was feeling, Ashleigh cut the pack, aiming roughly for the middle of the pack, creating two piles of the table cloth.

The two packs were shuffled.

'You must understand,' Karina murmured in a low voice, as the cards were once more merged, and the dancing shuffle resumed. 'I do not control the cards. The cards are the ones that speak the future, I can only interpret what I see.'

'The Major Arcana,' As the cards formed a familiar shape on the table, Ashleigh dredged up the term from her school days when a girl in her dormitory had read fortunes by torchlight in the dead of night.

'You have the gift?' Karina asked sharply.

'No,' Ashleigh shook her head, then added defiantly. 'I don't believe in all this, I'm not superstitious at all.'

'You say that now,' Karina sneered. 'Take a card.'

Ashleigh did as she was told until five cards lay in front of her. She tried to bite back the snarl that sprang to her lips that this was all nonsense, all hokum designed to con the vulnerable out of their money, those desperately seeking hope and who would rather look to the random fall of a pack of cards than seek it out with their own hands.

'Turn them over.'

The atmosphere seemed to draw in around her, the incense threatened to choke her, to fill her lungs until she could do nothing but bolt in fear from the tent. With a hand that was threatening to shake she lifted the first card, and threw it to the table.

Karina and Ashleigh stared at it.

A naked couple were entwined on the card, the woman's curves wrapped around her partner's sinuous muscles, her long dark hair flowing around them, tying them to each other in silken knots. The woman's eyes were closed in ecstasy, her lips parted, her head tilted back to reveal the vulnerable, delicate skin of her throat. The man's eyes were narrowed, in lust, Ashleigh thought at first, but as she stared, the man's face seemed to take on a cruel countenance. His hands were close to the woman's exposed throat, and suddenly, it seemed as if he was reaching to choke her, not to embrace her.

'The Lovers,' Karina declared, quite unnecessarily. Ashleigh jumped slightly, she had been too involved in staring at the card. Karina noted the slight movement, and paused, but finally she continued. 'The card means choice. Or decision. You face difficulties in whatever path you choose.'

Ashleigh tried not to snort with derision. It was such a general reading that even Ashleigh could have given a competent performance as a fortune teller. Karina watched carefully, noting the dark scowl on the younger woman's face.

'There is a man…' Karina continued, with only a flicker of displeasure at Ashleigh's attitude.

'Don't tell me,' Ashleigh sighed. 'A tall, dark, handsome stranger is about to enter my life.'

Karina frowned thoughtfully. 'Not one man, but two. You have two men in your life. One is dark, as you say, the other light. One dark, one blond. One you love, the other is your lover. You seek your lover.'

Ashleigh looked up in surprise, but checked it quickly. 'Do you say that to all the women who visit you?'

'It is true for you. I'm right, aren't I?' The mystic tone Karina had been adopting slipped slightly.

'You get all that from a single card?'

'I have… other gifts, beyond the tarot.'

Ashleigh suppressed a sudden shudder. She was strangely unnerved by this woman, and she couldn't think of a reason why.

'Another card,' Karina directed.

A small man was dancing along what appeared to be a country lane, a stick with bells in one hand, a coloured hat on his head, also tipped with bells. He had a manic, psychotic grin on his face, a grin that didn't meet his cold grey eyes. There was also something menacing in the way he was brandishing the stick.

'The Fool,' Karina tapped the card lightly, almost lovingly. 'The Fool dictates fate. He is also a symbol of luck. When he is not inverted, it means that fate will help you in your quests, that luck is on your side. It is a good card to have,' Karina said, trying to appease, but there was an uneasiness in her tone that made Ashleigh look up.

'And another,' Karina said quickly.

It was an involuntary reaction, but as Ashleigh turned the card over, she jerked her hand away with a low, frightened hiss. She cradled her hand, as if it had been burnt just by touching the card.

A skeleton robed in black dominated the card, silver, sharpened scythe in hand, and red pupils glaring from empty eye sockets.

'It is not what you think,' Karina tried to reassure. 'It does not mean literal death, it can mean rebirth, a new start, it does not mean death…'

Her voice trailed off, and she too stared at the card, a puzzled expression on her hawk like face. 'It does not always mean a true death…'

'But this time?' Ashleigh picked up on the uneasiness in the other woman's voice. Hysteria was beginning to creep in round the edges of Ashleigh's subconscious, and she stared at the cards in mounting horror.

'Turn another card,' Karina muttered dully.

'No!'

'You cannot stop there, you will not get a true reading,' the fortune teller insisted, but there was no conviction to her protest.

'Tell me,' Ashleigh demanded. 'Tell me what it means.'

Karina stared at the younger woman for a moment. 'You want to know?' she hissed.

'Yes!' Ashleigh fought to stop herself knocking the table over. Anything to remove the cards from her sight.

'You really want to know?' Karina repeated, her clawlike hands bunching into fists. 'Death comes for you. You're a fool in love and your lover seeks your death. The cards tell me this, I can feel it in the air around us and I know it as surely as I know my own name. Death is coming to claim you. And he will come soon.'

This time the table did go flying as Ashleigh stumbled to her feet. 'No. Not Alec.

'Alec? That is your lover's name?'

'My husband,' Ashleigh muttered, backing into a corner, suddenly terrified of the older woman, feeling as if the entire night was willing to turn on her and would attack any moment.

The fortune teller scrabbled round on her hands and knees, gathering together her precious cards. 'Be careful of him,' she said suddenly, looking up at Ashleigh. Her accent slipped, the mysticism went and instead a Bronx accent warned Ashleigh that her husband was trying to kill her.

It was too much. Reaching for her wallet, Ashleigh fumbled with it, ripping out a twenty dollar note. She threw it onto the now upright table and backed away, through the folds of the tent until she was once more into the night and the lights and the music of the fair.

She ran through the crowds, not seeing, not hearing, not understanding, simply knowing that she had to keep moving. Glancing up, she saw the moon was beginning to set, and she glanced up into the now dark sky, the Pole star mocking her with its brilliant presence. Following its guidance, she headed north.

A shout behind her drew her attention, and she realised she had been careless. She turned, and in the distance, she saw the younger Huang brother. He was gesturing frantically towards her, turning back towards whoever was following him, most likely his brother.

She realised the crowd was thinner here, almost gone, and looking around realised she had reached almost the end of the fairground. There was nothing this end except for a hut, larger than most of the others, and decorated in vivid orange and blues. Sliding around the corner of it, she discovered a door, and to her delight, that door was open.

Inside it was dark, muted, and for a confused moment, Ashleigh thought she had stepped into a crowded room.

She was surrounded by mirrors. She was in a House of Mirrors.

She crept cautiously forward, fascinated by the way her reflections moved with her, surrounding her, as if there were an army of her there to support her. There were endless images of herself, all projecting the same anxious, tense expression that she knew was plastered on her own face. She kept heading into the building, trying to work out what direction she was supposed to walk in, but knowing that she had to go further in to have a decent chance of concealing herself.

From the Huang brothers. From whoever was out to kill her.

The click of a safety being removed made her jump, and she saw the action repeated instantly by thousands of her.

The urge to call out was desperate, but instead she kept silent. Let whoever was in there with her speak first. Her hands edge towards the waistband of her shorts, where in the small of her back was concealed a small pistol.

Ideal for close contact work.

She risked another step forward, reaching the end of a narrow corridor. She rested for a moment against the cool glass, and then glanced quickly around the corner. Empty. Could she have imagined the sound? Could she have heard in it the distance. But the raised hairs on the back of her neck told her differently.

She heard a footstep, and she knew for sure. One person. Her versus them. This time she turned the corner, her gun ahead of her, prepared to fire.

Again, nothing. She stepped forward, cautiously, making her way down the corridor.

It opened out into a large chamber. She was surrounded by mirrors, but there was no reflection, nothing but darkness. She turned around and around, not understanding why, knowing that it was some sort of trick, some sort of magic with angles that meant she couldn't see herself, but the very air seemed thicker here, the darkness seemed heavier, and she felt it beginning to wrap around here.

Movement behind her made her turn again.

She was surrounded. A figure in a dark suit was reflected all around her, the same man, infinite images.

She drew back the safety on her weapon.

She was hypnotised by him, transfixed by him, taking in the blond hair, the tanned, scarred skin, the cruel green eyes watching her from every angle.

She raised the gun to eye level.

'Show yourself,' she finally called. 'Now!'

Alec Trevelyan stepped forward, his own gun raised, aimed directly at his wife's head.

'Hello darling,' he said coldly.


	31. Chapter Thirty

Once again, thank you for the reviews. Apologies for the cliffhanger in the last chapter, and er, apologies in advance as well... you'll see.

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Alec Trevelyan stepped forward, his own gun raised, aimed directly at his wife's head.

'Hello darling,' he said coldly.

Husband and wife faced each other in a standoff, each with a gun to their head.

Ashleigh stayed silent. She stood her ground, refusing to let him see that she was unnerved. She willed her hands to stay steady.

'Aren't you going to say hello?' Alec mocked her, a small, cruel smile playing around his lips. Languorously, he ran his eyes over her, and she had a distinct feeling that he found her lacking.

'Hello.' She forced the word out through gritted teeth.

'Such a cold welcome. I expected more from you, Ash.'

She watched him warily, never taking her eyes off him for a second.

'Ah,' Alec said, as if he suddenly understood everything. 'You weren't expecting me, were you?'

'No.'

'You knew I was on the island though,' he said, feigning mock confusion. 'I thought you were looking for me.'

'I was.' Her lips seemed numb, her brain slow and foggy. She struggled to think straight.

'Well guess what, Ash. You've found me.' His laugh seemed loud in the near darkness.

'What a stroke of luck,' Ashleigh spat.

'You're angry with me,' Alec mocked her.

'Angry enough to put a bullet in your head right now.' The words came out viciously, and vehemently.

'No you're not, Ashleigh. If you were, you'd have already done it.' He seemed so arrogant, so assured, and anger flooded her. Her finger twitched on the trigger.

Shouts were echoing from outside, distracting her, bringing her attention back to the less immediate danger. Ashleigh's eyes flickered to the left, towards the noise.

'Expecting visitors are we?' Alec asked solicitously.

'I'm being followed,' Ashleigh said bluntly.

'Are you? My, that was careless of you. Didn't MI6 teach you evasion techniques?'

'I was doing a pretty good job until I ran into you.'

Alec laughed again. 'No you weren't. You're out of practise, Ash. Anyway,' he said in a softer tone. 'You couldn't blend into a crowd if you tried.'

She almost lowered her gun, thrown by the gentleness in his voice, the apparent compliment. The tension in her arms vanished, and she felt the gun drop by a few inches, before she realised the trap. With a jerk she brought the weapon back up, noting that his gun hadn't dropped a millimetre.

'Nice try, Alec, but I think we're far beyond compliments, don't you?'

'Who said it was a compliment? I was merely noting that your stealth tactics are distinctly lacking. It's only the total stupidity of the Huangs that has protected you so far.'

'I'll bear that in mind,' she snarled. 'But really, I must be going. I'd love to catch up, and believe me when I say we have a lot to talk about, however it will have to wait.'

'Stay where you are.'

'Or what?' she challenged, and at that moment, risking everything, knowing she had a gun pointed to her head, she turned and ran the way she had came, into the darkness.

She was counting on the fact that he had loved her once. That even Alec Trevelyan wouldn't be able to coldly fire on the woman he had married, the mother of his only child, that there would be a moment's hesitation even if he truly meant to kill her.

It might only be a matter of moments, but if she could make it around the nearest corner, then there would be a chance.

She heard the gunshot and threw herself down into the corner. The mirror above her shattered into a thousand shards, raining down upon her. Ashleigh threw her arms above her head, protecting her face at least, feeling sharp scratches as the jagged edges caught her bare skin. Looking up she saw a bullet hole in the backing panel, slightly off to the left.

A warning shot.

Two could play at that game.

She fired back the way she came, not caring if she was accurate, but a vicious part inside her hoped she didn't miss. Hearing a muffled curse, and a solid thud, she decided that she had bought herself a few extra seconds and started to run again.

She heard him coming after her, and felt terror drive her on. She had been frightened of the man she had married before, but right now, she knew he would kill her if he caught her.

She didn't want to give him the opportunity.

She was already tired, had been running for what had seemed like hours. But she had to find the strength from somewhere. Fear gave her feet wings.

Her husband was a murderer. She had know that when she had fallen in love with him, had known it for years, but he had changed, she had thought that he had changed, that there was no reason for him to kill anymore.

They should have been working together to find their daughter, supporting each other, getting through this terrible time one day at a time, together, relying on each other.

Now he was going to kill her.

She wouldn't let him.

She was retracing steps, struggling to find her way in the endless passages, a modern day labyrinth, only she had no golden thread with which to find her way, and there was no Minotaur chasing her, just her husband. She could hear his breathing, hear how close he was to her.

Finally though, she caught a glimpse of light from outside, and she doubled her efforts, hearing the steady pounding of Alec's feet behind her, throwing herself forward, she crashed through the door.

Outside the fair was beginning to die down. It seemed darker and cooler now. Ashleigh stumbled, catching her knee on the ground as she fell through the door, skinning her hands as she struggled to regain her balance. She threw a frantic glance around, seeing nothing and everything all at once. Not knowing what to do, she simply ran forward, heading for cover.

Another gunshot rang out, and she moaned in fright, feeling terror threaten to overtake her. She had to stay focused, but all she wanted to do was hide. She glanced over her shoulder, saw Alec running after her. She had all but forgotten about the weapon in her hand, the survival instinct was stronger.

She was running on coarse ground, uneven and dangerous, ahead of her she could see a beach, the dark waves illuminated by the moon above. A wooden pier jutted out into the water, perhaps, if she could get there, she could make it to the beach.

Ashleigh fell. She felt the ground slip away from her, a stone under her foot causing her to lose her balance, and she hit the ground hard, winded, her gun skidding away from her.

Arms suddenly closed over her body, wrapping round her waist, jerking her upright, and a low voice growled into her ear.

'Run, just keep running,' Alec was lifting her, pushing her forward, shoving her gun back into her hand.

She almost fainted with fright. Her knees went, and all she could feel were Alec's hands on her waist and somewhere in the back of her mind, she realised he was helping her rather than putting a gun to her head. He was dragging her forward, making her go faster.

'They've seen us,' he hissed, and that gave her the boost she needed, she sprinted forward, ignoring the stinging in her knees and hands.

The Huang brothers saw the English bitch fall, hitting the ground hard. The scarred man helped her to her feet.

It was the evidence that they needed, they knew the two of them had killed their father.

Two gunshots rang out in the night, almost unheard over the loud music and the couple in the distance stumbled again, once more almost falling, but they carried on, dragging each other forward.

'The pier!' Huang Sr. cried, waving his gun in that direction. 'Head them off.'

They ran. Sprinting through the thin crowd, heading towards the wooden pier. Ashleigh could see it less than two hundred metres away. Lanterns swayed wildly in the increasing sea breeze.

'They're after both of us, aren't they?' Ashleigh gasped. Alec was still pulling her along and she struggled to match his long stride.

'If you already know, why do you have to ask?' Alec snapped, his hand tightening painfully on her upper arm.

'Confirmation. I'm fed up with being in the dark, its time we start dealing in hard facts.'

'Yes, they'll kill us both.'

'Because you killed their father? I saw his body, Alec.'

'Yes.'

'Why?'

She never got an answer to her question; instead, she skidded to a halt, dragging Alec to a standstill with her.

The older Huang brother had evidently taken a short cut, and now stood in front of them, blocking their way. He lifted his weapon, and Ashleigh saw the pale flash of his thumb as he clicked the safety off. Ashleigh turned, her hand grabbing for Alec's, pulling him in the opposite direction. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Huang Sr. matching their pace, running parallel to them. He shouted something in Chinese, that neither Ashleigh nor Alec understood, but it sounded like an order.

The solid weight hit them from behind. The junior Huang brother had evidently decided on a more physical form of revenge, the three of them tumbling to the ground in a flailing mass of limbs. An elbow slammed into her ribs, and Ashleigh groaned, the sharp pain almost unbearable in that moment.

She had landed on top of Alec, who was having his own problems. Huang Jr. threw a punch down, catching Alec on the side of the temple. Ashleigh scrambled backwards, trying to put some space between herself and the fighting men.

An arm encircled her throat, dragging her upwards, cutting off her air supply. While Huang Jr. grappled with her husband, Huang Sr. decided to deal with her.

His arm was locked around her neck, his spare hand locked around his wrist, tightening the hold. She struggled to get a purchase on the ground; he was much taller than her, her feet scraping against the coarse gravel. Her hands clawed at his arm, digging her nails in, pinching his skin, anything to try to get his to loosen his hold. She was beginning to feel light headed, her lungs fighting to hold onto their precious air.

Alec pinned Huang Jr. to the ground, smashing his fist into the young boy's face. For a moment he felt a pang of pity for the boy, dragged into the dispute by his older brother, desperate for revenge against his father's killer, but the boy was still moving beneath him, having taken a blow that would have knocked out a stronger man, and Alec respected him for that.

That quickly changed as the boy threw a wild punch into Alec's stomach, winding him briefly. He collapsed sideways, off the boy, covering his head as Huang Jr. wildly rained down blows into him.

She couldn't breathe, and Ashleigh was beginning to panic. She could make out Alec struggling, and struggling hard. Reaching up once more, she hooked her hands around Huang Sr.'s arms and used them to lever herself up, thrusting her feet out hard.

Huang Jr. didn't stand a chance, Ashleigh's feet smashed against his head, sending him flying. Momentum carried both Ashleigh and Huang Sr over, toppling to the ground. Ashleigh was pinned under the solid weight of the man's body, but she could at least breathe and she gratefully sucked oxygen into her lungs. She felt a hard slap to her face and the sharp sting as her lower lip split open. Then Alec's face appeared over her and the heavy weight was lifted off her body as he heaved Huang Sr. away. As the weight went, she leapt to her feet and ran, heading back towards the fair and the safety of people. The arm that hooked round her stopped her, and suddenly, Alec was dragging her back towards the sea.

As they reached the wooden pier that jutted into the night black ocean they glanced back, realising how much distance they had put between themselves and the two brothers. However, their situation was not ideal, at least, in Ashleigh's eyes it certainly wasn't. The wooden slats that made the surface of the pier seemed to bounce as they ran on them. The pier itself was old and rickety, and in dire need of repair. There were gaping holes where the boards had rotted, before crumbling into the sea below. To Ashleigh it seemed to sway in time with the waves rolling against the wooden supports, and she fought in Alec's arms.

'Let me go!' she shrieked, as his arms clamped around her body.

Sweat broke out on her skin as she realised how perilously she was perched above the sea. She hit out at Alec's strong chest, struggling to break free.

'No,' he whispered into her hair over and over, trying to pin her to him.

'Yes,' she could taste blood in her mouth, feel the cold sweat on her forehead being cooled by the sea breeze. She gave an almighty heave, and broke free, heading back towards the entrance to the pier and the safety of land.

And froze.

The Huangs were approaching once more, the younger brother's face swollen; already beginning to darken where Alec had hit him. The elder was heading towards them with murder in his eyes and a weapon in his hand.

Alec weighed up the options. He watched the Huangs and he looked around the pier. He already had had an idea forming in his mind as he had dragged Ashleigh here, and now, he thought it was the only option he had. Face the Huangs, fire round after around at each other and hope that he or Ashleigh could fire quicker than the brothers.

Or they could escape.

Ashleigh had been watching the Huangs. She turned as she felt Alec's eyes fall upon her once more.

'What?' she asked, folding her arms across her chest defensively. 'Alec, what?' she repeated.

Alec was silent. He stared at her.

'What are you doing?' Ashleigh repeated again, her voice a low hiss. She was unnerved by the cold, hard stare but as she watched, she saw his eyes flicker to the right, and beyond her shoulder. Confused, she turned.

There was nothing behind her but the battered wooden rail of the pier and the dark ocean beyond. She turned back to him with a look of horror on her face.

'Alec, no,' she whispered.

He said nothing, instead taking another step towards her. Involuntarily, Ashleigh stepped back. She could smell the sea salt in the air, felt the breeze ruffling through her short hair, pushing a few strands of dark fringe across her forehead. The pier suddenly seemed even more unstable beneath her feet and she was torn between moving towards Alec and the so called security of the middle of the boards, or she could step backwards and cling onto the rail.

Neither idea appealed much.

A wave of panic began to flood through Ashleigh. She risked a quick look over one shoulder, as if desperately hoping that she was once more on dry land, but simply realised that she had been edged ever close to the railing. And Alec was still bearing down on her.

'Alec, please, oh god, please no, not that,' she pleaded. He was her husband. He knew how much she hated the sea, even though they had rarely spoken of it, he knew that she never went in deeper than her knees, preferring instead to stay on the beach, watching Alec and Natasha splashing about in the waves. She had wanted to join in so desperately, but the idea of giving herself to the sea had terrified her, and now Alec wanted her to throw herself into the ink black ocean. 'Please don't make me do it,' she whispered, her plea barely audible over the crash of the waves below them and the cool sea wind. Jasmin had persuaded her to go into the water, and she had coped in the still, calm, clean tasting water, but still, Jasmin had died. If she went into the dark, heavy, pounding, salty water of the sea, who knew what would happen?

She stared at Alec. 'No,' she tried again. 'No, I won't! I won't do it!'

Her voice became a howl as Alec grabbed her, scooping her into his arms as easily as if she had been their daughter, and for one moment she was cradling against the strong muscles of his chest, feeling the softness of the cotton of his shirt against her cheek, breathing in the cool, fresh scent that seemed to surround him, feeling the strength of his arms as he hoisted her up, and then there was nothing beneath her but air, and she was screaming as she fell.

She hit the water hard, her scream cutting off as quickly as it had started and she knew nothing more.


	32. Chapter Thirty One

Thank you for all of your lovely reviews and thank you to the Unknown Beta for all his hard work reading my chapters and making suggestions.

Please be aware that this chapter is quite dark and there are violent elements to the action. There are also scenes of a sexual nature. Nothing too graphic though. Maybe a 15 rating in the UK.

I am very nervous about posting this chapter, so please, if you have any thoughts on it, positive or negative, a review would be much appreciated.

* * *

The water was crashing down on her, crushing her, she was being swept along by the current, tumbling over and over, not knowing which way was up, only aware that the sea was finally going to claim her, that she has escaped once, and that now, she was going to drown.

Ashleigh had hit the water hard and shocked by what Alec had done, she'd barely had time to register that she was falling, let alone what she would actually do when she hit the water. She had hit the surface hard, the air forced out of her by the sudden impact, and then she had been dragged down below the waves, panicking, unable to pull herself together to swim, to fight the current, to even work out which way the surface was.

She knew drowning wasn't an easy death, knew that her last moments would be agony as the water rushed into her lungs, that the last sensations she would feel would be cold and as sharp as a knife deep inside her. She wanted to scream, but knew she couldn't. Instead she struggled, lashing out with arms and legs, trying to swim, trying to save herself. It was pitch black in the water, and she closed her eyes against the unforgiving darkness.

Alec watched as Ashleigh hit the water; saw the look of horror on her face before she vanished below the surface. He turned as the Huangs shouted, realising they were about to lose their opportunity for revenge, gave a cold hard smile in their direction, and leapt over the railing.

To his surprise, the water was warmer than he expected, but dark, so dark, he forced his eyes open as he crashed below the surface.

To stay submerged for a minute or two was his best option, he knew the Huangs would fire down on them, and under the water he had more of a chance of surviving. And having died twice already in this lifetime, Alec had no intentions of really dying at the hands of two jumped up wannabe Lords of War.

He struck out hard, dragging himself through the water, swimming hard against the current that wanted to pull him towards the shore.

He could see Ashleigh ahead, a pale shape in the water. She was struggling, but the struggles were getting weaker. As he swam towards her, he saw her go limp, slowly sinking as gravity pulled her deeper under the water. He doubled his efforts, reaching out for her.

Gasping for breath, Alec broke the surface of the water, dragging Ashleigh with him. The fresh air revived her, and she opened her eyes, coughing and spluttering as the air hit her face. He hooked an arm under her, and began the swim back to shore, Ashleigh lying compliantly in his grasp, helping as she could, kicking in sync with him, letting him take control and getting them back onto dry land.

* * *

The hotel room was softly lit, luxurious, yet strangely sterile. Ashleigh was slumped on the floor, leaning back against a tall chest of drawers, shivering, still soaked through. She glanced round the room, taking in the softly coloured walls, the expensive furniture, the huge, dominating bed in the centre of the room, covered in overly plump cushions and bolsters, all swathed in sensuous fabrics. The window was open, sending in a cool breeze that ruffled the muslin drapes that surrounded the bed, and raising goosebumps on Ashleigh's chilled skin. She had been in the room for about twenty minutes, since Alec had dragged her from the ocean and bundled her into the back of a dark saloon car. He hadn't said where they were going, or why they were going there, but she hadn't expected this.

She wasn't sure what she had expected.

'Here,' Alec said, coming back into the room from the bathroom. She looked up warily, as if expecting a blow, but he was simply holding out a dark navy towel to her. She took it, rubbing at her arms, and lightly over her hair before wrapping it around herself. She was shivering.

Alec barely afforded her a second glance, instead rubbing his own hair with another towel. He had shrugged off his jacket as soon as he had left the sea, the sopping fabric crumpled in the corner of the room, leaving him dressed only in his trousers and his black shirt, the collar undone, and the sleeves rolled up his arms. Idly he reached for his discarded suit jacket, and from somewhere in the middle of the bundle of wet material, he pulled out his favoured Browning DA pistol, and examined it critically, separating the parts, tipping out salt water from the components. It had suffered worse before, now he laid it out on the desk to dry.

'Busy night?' Ashleigh snarled from the floor.

He glanced over at her as if he had forgotten she was even in the room. 'You could say that,' he said mildly.

'Shame it came to an early end then,' she gestured at the dismantled weapon. 'You won't be using that for a while.'

'I suppose not,' he shrugged his shoulders and then reached to pull open a drawer of the bedside table. 'But then, you know me, I like to be prepared.' He lifted out an identical weapon and laid it on the table.

'So how many did you kill tonight? Just the old Huang man? Anyone else?'

'Just Huang.'

'Enjoy it, did you? Killing a defenceless old man?'

'How do you know he was defenceless?'

'I saw him,' she said shrilly. 'I saw him. He had a gunshot wound to the back of the head. He had no weapon with which to defend himself. You executed him. You executed an old man!'

'It wasn't my choice to do so.'

'That's a comforting thought.'

Alec stared down at his wife. She was huddled against the chest of drawers, her knees drawn up almost to her chin, her short hair drying into spikes, stiffened by the salt water. The towel she had around her had slipped, revealing her almost bare shoulders. A single droplet of water had slipped from her hair, down her neck, to nestle in the hollow above her collarbone. He had a sudden urge to brush it away, but the dark accusation in her wide eyes made him keep his distance.

She knew him too well. As they stared at each other, she saw the briefest flicker of pain on his features before they slipped back into the carefully composed mask. And the futility of the situation hit her hard. Their daughter had been missing for weeks now, and it seemed like they were no closer to finding her than they had been in the beginning. She wanted to clamber to her feet, to step across the gulf that seemed to divide them, to let him wrap his arms around her, to lift herself up and press her mouth against his, to kiss him, to let him know that together, together, they could survive anything, even this.

'It was just one old man,' Alec said bluntly.

His coldness was like a slap in the face. All of a sudden, the tenderness between them was gone once more, and she recoiled, pressing back into the solid wood behind her, furious at herself for letting the icy façade drop, even for a moment.

'Fuck you, Alec,' she swore. 'Fuck you then.'

He raised an eyebrow at her. 'Such a charming endearment, Ash. You always knew how to touch me.'

'Once I did,' she said blandly. 'Once. That's over now.'

'Is it?' he said softly.

'I'm not entirely sure how we can go on.'

Alec laughed harshly, the sound unnerving Ashleigh completely. 'You always give up so easily, Ashleigh.'

'I know when I'm fighting a lost cause,' she said quietly.

Slowly, swallowing hard, she found the words she wanted to say. 'Tell me where my daughter is. Tell me where Natasha is, and I'll go.'

He turned back slowly to her. 'And what makes you think that I know where she is?'

If she could read him, then her face to him was a permanently open book. He saw it fall now, saw all her hopes crushed at once. 'You mean, you mean that you don't know where she is?' she stammered.

He shrugged. 'Not exactly.'

'Not exactly?' she repeated incredulously. 'Not exactly?'

Silence fell heavy in the room. Alec dropped the towel unceremoniously onto the nearby dresser and simply stared defiantly at his wife as if daring her to question him further.

'I'm in the dark again, aren't I?' Ashleigh said softly, bitter understanding dawning on her face. She turned away from him, choosing to stare at the floor instead, her chin pressed to her shoulder, tucking her face away, refusing to meet his eyes. 'Once more, I know nothing, and you know almost everything. You hold all the cards, and I scrabble around, hoping, praying, desperately trying to find my way in the game, and you won't tell me a thing.' The last few words were almost a shout that fell flatly in the empty silence.

'Fine,' Ashleigh shrugged stoically, unknowingly copying her husband's gesture of moments before. 'Fine. You win, Alec. Like you always do.'

'I didn't know there was anything to win. Or lose.'

'Don't you? I think we both stand to lose everything. No, that's not right is it? I stand to lose everything, and you will walk away with everything. Like you always do. So what will happen this time? Another faked death? Only this time it would be different, wouldn't it? There would be a grieving widow, mourning the loss of her husband, her only child, her whole family wiped out in a matter of weeks. Such a tragic loss. And what am I to do then, Alec? Return to England? Or am I to be so overcome by grief that I can't face living any longer? Some may call it suicide, others will call it a broken heart, and you'll be free to carry out whatever plan it is that you're making…'

Her voice trailed off, and suddenly her eyes widened at the sight of the sullen expression on his face. 'I won't be given the chance to, will I?' she said suddenly, viciously. 'I'm right, aren't I? Its easy to dispose of an unwanted wife, isn't it? How is it to be? Car accident? Or will it just be a single bullet to the head?'

'You unnerve me, Ash, you always have,' Alec said, raking a hand through his still damp hair. 'You have the strange ability to always jump to completely the wrong conclusion in the shortest amount of time possible.'

'Do you honestly expect me to believe that you'll let me walk away from this alive?'

'Yes,' he said simply. 'I have no intention of killing you.'

'And your friends? Can I have their reassurance too?'

'Friends?' he shook his head disbelievingly. 'Do you think I would call the people who have done this 'friends'?'

'I wouldn't know, would I?' her voice became shrill and high again. 'Because I have no idea what's going on!'

'Your problem, Ash, is that you let your conscience drag you down.'

'What?' she said, completely unnerved by the complete change of direction in the conversation.

'Don't look so surprised,' Alec said idly. 'You've always lived by your conscience, you let your conscience make the decisions, even when they are the wrong ones to make because you believe it's the 'right' thing to do.' The scorn in his voice was plain to hear. 'Sometimes, the right thing to do, is the wrong thing. The thing that will go against every moral you have, every ethical instinct inside you, everything your bloody conscience is screaming against!'

He was close to losing his temper and Ashleigh cowered back against the chest of drawers. She had rarely seen Alec angry. Cool, arrogant, yes, even coldly furious, yet this red hot anger was a rarity.

She dragged herself to her feet, using the drawers for support. She stood before him in her still wet clothes, hair limp around her face, and drew up every last vestige of dignity that she still had.

'At least I still have a conscience,' she said, chin tilted into the air, shoulders squared.

'I wouldn't be so proud of that,' he said, a dark flicker of amusement on his face. 'Look at you, Ash. You've always done what you've believed to be right, and it still hasn't got you anywhere, has it? You're married to me, and we all know what I am, don't we? A traitor. A murderer. Janus. How have you resigned your conscience to us? When I touch you, how do you justify it? When I kiss you, how do you soothe your conscience? In bed, when we…'

'Stop it,' she spat, before he could say it. She didn't want those images in her head, not while they were standing so close together.

'Why not, Ashleigh?' he took another step closer to her, and she caught the faintest tang of the cool, fresh scent that he always wore, the one that seemed to permeate everything that she owned, so that she could never escape him, faint, so faint, tempered with sea salt and exertion. 'Why not? Isn't that what you've been thinking of from the moment you saw me?'

'No!' she cried out, and threw her hands out wildly, hoping to stop him from moving closer. They hit hard against his chest, knocking him back slightly.

Alec staggered slightly, thrown off balance by the violence in the blows. The dark look reappeared on his face. 'Weakness.'

She almost didn't hear him, the word was said so quietly. She remained silent, trying not to shake.

'Weakness,' he repeated. 'You have a weakness in you, Ash. In your temper, in your beliefs, a stupid, pointless weakness. It's why you'd have never made it as an agent. And you knew it, you took your chance to escape MI6 as quickly as you could, before it all went wrong. You'd have never made 00, ever. You're weak. Like David was. Like your father was,' he reiterated, his eyes glittering strangely.

'Never mention my father again,' she hissed, closing the distance between them. 'Never!'

He was reminded of a cold, icy morning, a morning where he had said goodbye to Ashleigh, furious that she would rather go to death with James than come with him. He hadn't been able to ask her, to put into words the fact that he wanted her to turn away from the mission, and go with him, and so he had spat insults at her, his anger only matched by hers when she had realised that he wouldn't be going with them. In that exchange, she had hit him, and in memory of that, he backed away, not prepared to take another right hook from her.

'Weakness,' he said again.

He saw her eyes flicker past him, fall on the Browning DA that sat patiently on the bedside table.

'Don't even think about it,' he laughed hollowly.

'Why not?'

'You wouldn't, Ash. I know you.'

She launched herself at him, with a wild cry, she threw herself forward, reaching out for the pistol.

She had aimed at his middle in a rough tackle, hoping to knock him out of the way, hoping to bring him crashing to the floor. For a moment, she was in his arms, he reached for her hands, hoping to stop her hitting him, but he overbalanced, and the two of them fell to the floor. Ashleigh was smaller than him, able to manoeuvre better in the small tight space between the bed and the table, and he fought hard, pulling her arms away, his fingers closed over cool metal, and then he felt Ashleigh's nails claw across the back of his hand, pulling his fingers away, and then she brought her knee up into his stomach and hard, and in that moment, she wrenched the gun away.

'Back,' she hissed, from where she was lying on the floor, pressed against the wall. The gun was pointing directly at his stomach. 'Back, now.'

Alec moved backwards, scuffling in an undignified manner across the floor. Ashleigh followed, until he was pressed back against the side of the bed, and she was kneeling in front of him, the gun pressed into the stubbled skin under his jaw.

'Don't pretend to have feelings for me, Alec,' she said hollowly, 'I stopped believing that you did long ago. I'm just an incubator for your children, nothing more than that. You bloody confirmed it for me when you drove away from our home without a goodbye, without a backwards glance. Enough is enough. I'm going to find my daughter, and when I'm do, I'm going to take her far away from you.'

'With what, exactly?' Alec snarled, ignoring the pressure of the gun under his chin.

'Oh don't worry about my financial arrangements, darling,' Ashleigh spat sarcastically. 'You forget, I inherited everything from my parents, I sold my house in London, money is the least of my troubles right now.'

He ignored her. 'Do you really think I'm going to let you walk away with my daughter?'

'You have no choice in the matter. I've learnt from the master, Alec, from you, and I'm damned sure I can hide myself away. Even from you. She's my daughter too, I gave birth to her, and I'm going to protect her.'

'Protect her?' Alec laughed cruelly. 'You've done a fantastic job so far, haven't you? You were there when they took her!'

'Yes, I was, wasn't I? _I was there!_ And you weren't! You were off running errands for Le Loup! I was there, and I tried to protect her, and they had to damn near half kill me to take her!'

'You know about Le Loup?' Alec asked dangerously.

'Of course I do! I'm not as stupid as you seem to think I am, Alec.' The gun pressed harder into his jaw, and Alec had to shift upwards slightly to relieve the pressure.

'Yet you think you can just walk up to him, and take Natasha back? Now that is stupidity, Ash.'

'At least I'm trying!' She pushed harder against him, so Alec was bent back over the bed, a slightly white tinge to his skin. He licked his lips nervously.

'You'll be dead within the month, Ash, if you try,' he lifted a hand, and gently pressed it against her face, cupping her jaw, running his thumb across her cheek.

She laughed bitterly. 'That makes two of us then, doesn't it?' For a moment, she let him touch her, her eyes closing briefly with pleasure at his caress and then she realised what she was doing, and she jerked her head away.

'Kill me now,' Alec whispered. 'Do it now, before I kill you. This is the only chance I'll give you. If you don't I'll hunt you down, or Le Loup will. Kill me, before I kill you.'

'Don't push me!' she half screamed, forcing him back even more, so they were lying on the bed, Alec flat on his back, Ashleigh half kneeling over him, half lying on top of him, her warm body pressed against him. 'Don't push me,' she repeated, calmer this time, the gun now pressed into his head, 'because I'm so close to doing it.'

'You wouldn't dare,' he taunted.

She fumbled with the safety, her hand shaking as she drew it back, and Alec heard the ominous click as it fixed into place.

'I'll do it,' she said, a tremble evident in her voice. 'I'll do it.' The tremble had reached her hands and he realised that he was in danger of the gun going off accidentally before Ashleigh managed to pull herself together enough to actually do it. He couldn't risk either happening.

'No, you won't,' he said fiercely, and then, suddenly, he lashed out, hitting the side of her arm hard, forcing it away. She cried out half in pain, half in shock as her arm was thrown to one side, and there was the terrible sound of a shot, and the gun flew out of her hand to clatter into the corner of the room. She turned back to Alec, terrified that she would see a wound between his eyes, blood trickling down his face, those cold green eyes finally dulled, but to her surprise, he was staring up at her, almost smirking with arrogance, as if he knew she would never be able to kill someone she loved. Her eyes opened wide with shock, and in her moment of weakness, he took his opportunity, his hands flying to her shoulders, knocking her off balance, dragging her under him, their roles reversed, pinning her to the bed with the weight of his body.

She was breathing heavily, her chest rising and falling rapidly against his, he could see the rapid beat of her pulse flickering in the hollow of her throat, and he resisted the urge to lower his head and press his mouth against the taut skin there. Instead he lifted his eyes to her face, saw the flush of anger in her cheeks and fury in her warm brown eyes.

'You bastard,' she gasped in between breaths, and suddenly, she was fighting hard, writhing beneath him, trying to push him off her, but he pressed down harder, crushing her. She fought one hand free, trying to hit him against the side of his head, and he felt her fingers glance off his hair, a too close to be comfortable miss and so he pinned her hand above her head.

They had been apart for weeks, and now Alec realised how much he had missed the warmth of his wife's body, how much he had missed her, and his body responded quickly to the feel of hers. 'Ash,' he murmured.

Ashleigh stared up at her husband in some surprise at the sound of her name. She felt Alec's grip relax on her slightly, and realised how close they had come, how the distance between their faces had decreased without her knowing it, and suddenly, his mouth was on hers, hard and demanding. A shiver shot down Ashleigh's spine, and her lips parted, letting him kiss her…

'No!' she howled, bringing her head up hard. Their foreheads met in sharp crack, and Ashleigh blinked away the stars that burst suddenly in front of her eyes. Alec swore, and clamped his hand to his head, and Ashleigh took her chance, wriggling out from underneath him, and off the bed, diving for the door. She fumbled with the door handle, hearing Alec stumble after her. She swore harshly, as she realised it was locked and fought to open it, the lock stiff in her hand, and then suddenly, she was dragged away from the door, Alec's arms locked around her, pulling her towards the bed.

'No!' she cried again, fighting in his arms. He had always been stronger than her, he towered over her in height, she was pressed into his chest.

'Ash,' he murmured into her hair, trying to calm her, pulling her down onto the bed, kissing her shoulders, her throat, stroking the length of her side.

'Alec,' his name caught in her throat, 'please, no.'

His hands were tearing at her clothes, she heard the rip of fabric as her top tore. The cold air hit her damp, exposed skin, making her gasp. His hands cupped her breasts, warming her, she arched her back pressing close against him, against her will, her body responding to him even as she shook her head, even as she tried to get away from him. Her hands clutched at his shoulders, ripping away the fabric there, until she could feel the smooth, warm hardness of his skin and muscles, and then, yes, her fingers found the rippled texture of his scarred side, and she knew she was with Alec, her husband. Angrily, she clawed his back, relishing the feel of her nails against his skin. He hissed in pain, and wrapped a hand around her throat, staring down at her. Ashleigh stared back defiantly, a dark expression in her eyes, and as he watched her, her eyes became softer, gentler, and he felt her hand trailing down his spine gently, even as he gripped her throat. Leaning down, he kissed her softly, feeling her lips part beneath his once more, her tongue flickering gently against his, deepening the kiss.

Her teeth tore into his lip a moment later, a sharp, spiteful pain, and he pulled away suddenly, pressing his spare hand to his lower lip. Blood marked his fingers, and he glanced down, as she smiled, showing off the blood, his blood, darkening her pink lips to red, a small smear across her white teeth. He scowled, and ran a hand over her mouth, wiping away the blood.

'Bitch,' he said, before leaning down to kiss her once more.

'You've only just realised?' he felt her murmur against his lips. He lifted his hand from her throat, seeking her skin once more, stroking, caressing, teasing, and yet, still she fought him, hindering his progress, refusing to make matters easy for him.

He found her, warm, slick and wet, despite her protests. His body covered hers, his hard muscles moulding against her curves, it was so easy to part her thighs, to slide between them and he lost himself in the sensation of being inside her once more, dominating her completely. Still she moaned 'no', still she shook her head even as she wrapped her legs around his waist and drew him closer.

In the darkness, they found each other, their bodies coming together in an expression of the passion that had brought them together, drawing pleasure from the familiar act. Alec was rapidly losing control, he couldn't stop now even if he tried, and somewhere, late in the night, he heard himself cry her name, and at long last, she answered 'yes'.


	33. Chapter Thirty Two

Apologies for the delay, real life strikes again. A short 'filler' chapter to keep you going.

* * *

The single beam of sunlight that had filtered its way through the blinds illuminated the almost naked woman as she sat on the edge of the bed. The other occupant of the room was still half covered by the rumpled sheets, one arm thrown lazily out in sleep, an almost peaceful expression on their face.

Slowly, Ashleigh stood, reaching for her clothes, pulling on the knee length shorts, grimacing as the still damp, salt encrusted material caught against her legs. She examined the black silk of her top, and discovered a broken strap and a rip where one of the seams hadn't been able to cope. She threw the material to the ground, where it landed haphazardly against another dark item. Curiously, she picked it up, discovering Alec's sodden suit jacket. She slid her hand into one of the pockets, and found a disintegrating piece of paper. She felt inside another pocket, not feeling hopeful, and her fingers brushed against cold metal.

It was a ring, she held it up to the light, examining it minutely. Alec wore no ring but his wedding ring, and that was only on certain occasions. He never wore it when 'working' as it would reveal more than he wanted to reveal, but sometimes, Ashleigh would catch a glimpse of white metal on his left hand when he was at home, with her. This ring was different. It was gold, a metal she didn't like, and in the fashion of a signet ring.

She turned it over, to look at the face and saw the wolf's head there. She nearly dropped it in disgust, realising the connection. Since Charles had told her about Le Loup, she had drawn an image inside her head of the man, of the devil who had taken her child. Now she held something in her hand that he had touched, and she felt as if the cold metal would burn her. The wolf's head was a strange, stylistic impression, drawn simply, and she ran her finger over the grooves. Without knowing why, she slipped the ring into her own pocket.

As quietly as she could, she began to open drawers, not sure what she looking for, or what she would find. In one, she found a slim black leather notebook, and opening it, found it filled with addresses, scribbled in Alec's jagged scrawl. As she flicked through it, one caught her eye.

One she thought she recognised.

She turned, checking on the figure in the bed, satisfying herself that he was asleep. Quickly, she ripped the page out, slipping it into the pocket already holding the ring.

She jabbed her foot into the damaged silk that had been her top the day before. Opening the wardrobe door, she pulled out the first shirt she found, slipping it on, wrapping herself in the black cotton. For a moment, she allowed herself the luxury of pulling the fabric up to her face, breathing in the cool scent that he always wore.

Unlocking the door, she walked away, never once looking back.

In the bed, Alec opened his eyes.


	34. Chapter Thirty Three

Working late at MI6 was no different to working during the day. If you had an office with a window, you might have noticed the day slipping into night, but deep within the building, it was impossible to tell if it was light or dark outside. Which was why, Charles Robinson was only mildly surprised when he stopped working, ran a hand over his tired face, looked at his watch and discovered that it was nearly midnight.

He had been at work since 6am that morning, and had barely noticed the hours fly by. His knee, on the other hand so to speak, had, and was now flaring up with pain, insisting that it received its eight hourly painkillers and soon. Charles swallowed the Voltarol with a grimace, knowing that within the half hour he would be suffering from the mild queasiness the drug brought on. However, it worked well at numbing the pain in his leg and therefore was worth every bout of mild sickness.

He leant back into his chair, trying to shift his knee into a comfortable position. The surgery he had received in France had worked well, but on return to England, he had been transferred to the MI6 hospital wing, deep within the bowels of the building, and had had a new kneecap fitted. Amazing what modern technology could do, Charles thought, although he had endured jibes about being the Bionic Man. It was mild enough teasing, and not exactly accurate, but it was so rare that anyone could find anything to tease Charles Robinson about, that his colleagues had grasped the opportunity with good natured glee. Charles smiled, waved, and acknowledged the gentle mocking with good grace, but if he was honest, he couldn't wait to get off his bloody crutches.

With a sigh, he glanced over at the offending objects and mentally cursed Alec Trevelyan yet again. And just for good measure, he cursed Ashleigh as well. He had tried to help, and what had he received for his troubles? An imploded kneecap and a week stay in a French hospital.

Gripping the edge of his desk, he slowly levered himself to standing, reaching out for his crutches, and awkwardly balancing himself upon them. He had hoped it would get easier with practise, but there was always that moment of total lack of grace when trying to stand, get his arms through the loops of the crutches and keep his balance all at the same time. Finally in, he made slow progress out into the corridor, hoping the painkillers would kick in, and soon.

'Working late, Charles?' a crisp, authoritative voice broke the silence of the hallowed corridors.

'Nope, just checking out the nightlife,' Charles muttered sarcastically. His patience was nearly at the end of its tether tonight, and even though it was his boss who had spoken, he still risked the comment.

'I'll ignore that, Charles, on the account of the medication that you're on,' M lifted a regal eyebrow.

'Very gracious of you, sir,' Charles turned to face M, who still managed to look as calm and collected as ever, even though he knew she had been in the office at least as long as he had been.

'No it isn't,' M smiled. 'I just want someone to share a nightcap with me, and you're the first lucky person I ran into tonight.'

'Is that an order sir?'

'Absolutely. Now, I think we'll use your office, as its closer.'

Inside the office, M produced a small silver hip flask, 'Present from the Prime Minister,' she explained with a small sneer, and poured a decent measure of bourbon into two mugs that Charles found in a drawer. 'Are these clean?'

Charles swirled the bourbon around the mug in as suave a manner as he could. 'Probably. I'm not entirely sure. I'm not entirely sure I should be drinking on this medication either.'

'Most likely not. Don't worry, I'll call a medic immediately if you starting acting strangely.'

'How will you tell, sir?'

'Oh, if you start sprouting feathers, or turn lime green, or something similar.'

'How reassuring, sir.'

M started into her mug. 'Its nice to be able to laugh about something. There's been nothing but bad news here recently.'

'Isn't that normal for here?'

'You know what I mean, Charles. We lost a good agent in Van Dien.'

'Bond seems to think so.'

'And you don't?'

'She was a profiler. She worked with the records. It could have been worse.'

M looked closely at Charles, noting the slight ashen tinge to his dark skin, the bags under his slightly bloodshot eyes. 'That's somewhat callous, don't you think?'

'Perhaps. But when you think of the agents we have in Afghanistan, out in Iraq, North Korea, China, and the risks they run every day, it could have been one of them, a 00, or a more senior agent. In the great scheme of MI6, Jasmin was small fry. I'm sorry that she's dead, but by the sounds of it, they were lying in wait for them both. It's a miracle that Ashleigh didn't end up the same way.'

'Is it?' M said idly. 'From what Wade told me, and he was only repeating Ashleigh's evidence, they were attacked by several men. Jasmin was killed, and then Ashleigh escaped after taking on only one man. One man. Where was the rest?'

'Dealing with Jasmin?' Charles shrugged.

'Shall we say there were six men? Just for argument's sake?'

'Alright,' Charles agreed warily, not sure where M was heading with the matter.

'Six men, two women. Ashleigh, according to her records is 5'4 and weighs 9 stone. Jasmin, 5'6 and the same. Both are, were, young women, with exemplary physical fitness. Both were experienced scuba divers, and both had faced mortal danger before. Although, admittedly, Ashleigh had perhaps more experience with that. However, they were outnumbered, three to one. Three men to each woman. Yet Ashleigh faced only one man. Did it really take five men to deal with Jasmin - who by the evidence we have, was already dead? Or if not dead, was dying, and quickly. Why not leave one man to deal with the dead woman, and five to attack the still living? Why let her get away? Why not chase her? Why was she allowed to swim away?'

'Sheer luck? We all know that some agents are blessed with it.'

'Perhaps. Or perhaps Ashleigh was meant to get away?'

Charles nodded slowly, processing what he had just been told. 'Jasmin's death could have been a warning?'

'Is Jasmin dead?' M said simply.

Charles sat up, an action that his leg immediately protested about. 'You know something, M. You have that look on your face.'

'Our dear American friend, Wade, let slip an interesting piece of information during our last conversation. One that he thought might come in useful to our investigation into our agent's death.'

'Oh yes?'

'There's a small town near to close the American base. On the morning that our agents were attacked, a young woman was reported missing - aged twenty eight, olive skinned, with long, slightly wavy dark hair. Now, this is nothing unusual, as you know young women have a tendency to go missing when the fancy takes them, usually there is a man involved, but the fascinating thing about this is that she has the same exact measurements as our deceased agent's.'

'Ok, so a woman matching the description of Van Dien goes missing on the same day that Van Dien is killed. But Ashleigh saw Van Dien die. Unless you're suggesting it was this girl who died instead?'

'That would be overly complicated, Charles, trying to switch women right in front of Ashleigh. Are you sure that medication isn't addling your brain? Think, Charles, think. Five men to deal with Jasmin, one to deal with Ashleigh. Five men to take Jasmin away, make Ashleigh think that she's dead. Ashleigh escapes, and immediately spreads the word of Jasmin's death. Except, Jasmin isn't dead. Jasmin is removed by the men, who then take her away. Then the Americans discover a body matching the description given by our agent. The body has been badly mutilated, it will be impossible to identify her. Wade has already admitted that he advised Ashleigh not to look at the body. But who says that Ashleigh would have been able to tell the difference, even if she had seen the body. Dark hair, olive skin, a slim body. Ashleigh would have been expecting to see Jasmin, it's likely that she would have identified her as such.'

'But it's too much of a coincidence to ignore?'

'Exactly. Which means we have a situation on our hands.'

'You suspect Van Dien is a double agent?'

M sighed, and folded her hands. 'I'm loathe to admit it, but yes. Jasmin spent many years researching Alec Trevelyan, please take that look off your face, Charles, and who knows what she might have discovered by chance. Perhaps she got the idea from Alec's two successful attempts at faking his own death?'

Charles tried to follow M's leaps of logic.

'Are you now suggesting that Jasmin may have known that Alec and Ashleigh were married?'

'I'm not suggesting anything, Charles, but please do carry on.'

'If Jasmin knew that they were married, then she may have known that there was a child as well. Or she may have jumped to that conclusion.'

'Or Natasha wasn't the main focus of the attack. Ashleigh was, and they realised they had struck gold when they discovered a child instead.'

Charles sipped at his bourbon, his mind racing. 'No. Ashleigh wasn't the focus. The child, Natasha, was. Alec's an orphan. His whole revenge was based around family, his parents. If anyone knew what his weak point was, it would be his daughter.'

'We're still coming to the same conclusion though, Charles. It looks like Van Dien was a double agent. And the likelihood is that she told our kidnappers about the Trevelyans. So who was Jasmin working for?'

'Le Loup,' Charles said dully.

'Pierre Merkalov,' M confirmed. 'It infuriates me, Charles, that we have all the information and no plan of action. We know who has Natasha, we know how she was taken, and who knew about her. We know the identity of a double agent, and yet, we have nothing more to work on.'

Charles glanced at his boss, who stared innocently back. 'Sir, yet again, you know something.'

'Yes, I do actually,' M smiled, taking a sip of her drink. 'But as head of MI6 I must be allowed some secrets sometimes, even from my Chief of Staff.'

'Are you going to tell James about Jasmin?'

M paused. 'I haven't decided yet. It may be too soon.'

'He's not taking it well, is he?'

'No,' M shook his head. 'I told him to take extended leave, and to my utter surprise, he accepted. I believe he is in Innsbruck at the moment. He has a house there,' M explained when Charles looked puzzled.

'I thought you didn't approve of relationships between agents,' Charles said with a touch of resentment in his voice.

'Don't be bitter, Charles, it doesn't suit you.' M snapped. 'I didn't approve of James and Jasmin, but as I'm sure you're aware, it's very difficult to police agents every hour of the day, no matter how much I would like to. The thing with James is that at least you can guarantee his relationships will be relatively short. Intense, but ultimately brief encounters.'

Charles remained silent. M watched him carefully, before setting her mug down on the desk in front of her.

'The relationship you had with Ashleigh, do you think it was serious? Or was it a brief encounter?'

'We never had the chance to find out, did we?'

This time M remained silent, waiting for Charles to continue.

'We had something,' he finally admitted. 'She was different from the other agents, there was something about her that appealed to me. It was different being with a fellow agent, someone who knew what it was like to live life under a cloak of secrecy. It was a change to be able to leave work behind and know that you weren't going to be questioned about your day, because we knew that we weren't able to talk about it. So we focused on other things.'

'So I remember,' M said wryly, and Charles had to look away. M had walked in on the lovers on their first night together, and although it had only once been mentioned, Charles was deeply uncomfortable with the thought.

'I just feel that we should have been allowed a chance,' he said fiercely.

'Do you think she was the woman for you?'

'Well I obviously wasn't the man for her,' he snarled. 'Perhaps if I had betrayed my country too…'

'Charles,' M said sharply.

'No. I don't think she was,' Charles admitted quietly.

'So what I did was right?' M pressed.

'I wouldn't go that far, sir,' Charles gave a small smile.

'Well, while we're making deep and dark confessions, I have one too.' M said, staring intently out of the window while she spoke. 'You shouldn't have favourites in the this line of work, but I do.'

'Sir?' Charles wondered if he should protest, to say that he didn't want to hear whatever M was going to say, but he knew that if the woman had decided it was time to make a confession then she would do so, whether he protested or not.

'I was determined that I would take over as M, long before my predecessor retired. I was already making preparations, working out who I would want to promote, who were the agents to keep an eye on. You were certainly one of them. I wanted people who were bright, knowledgeable, logical and yet were able to think outside the box as well. I wanted people who I could trust, and I saw in you the qualities that would make you a great asset to my staff. I made sure that you progressed rapidly, and that you would be where I wanted you when I finally took on the role.'

Charles looked aghast, and M lifted a hand to silence the protests that he was about to make. 'Not like that, Charles. If you hadn't been suitable, then you wouldn't be in the role now. My favouritism does not blind me to people's faults. Thankfully, you were better than I expected.'

'That's very reassuring, sir,' Charles said solemnly, reaching for the hipflask.

'Alec Trevelyan was another favourite,' M said softly. 'I saw the potential for a great agent there, a name that would go down in the history books, but for far better reasons than why it did. He took his role very seriously, worked with a cool head, and got excellent results. At one point, his kill record looked like a Who's Who of the criminal underworld. And yes, I favoured him. I made sure he got the assignments that would get him noticed. Ashleigh on the other hand… Ashleigh was more complicated.'

M sipped her refreshed drink. 'I was surprised when I discovered you and Ashleigh were together. Especially when I had serious plans for the both of you. It's why I offered you your current role, and Ashleigh the chance to become an active agent. It's what you both wanted, and I admit, I was curious to see whether you would take the offer or whether you would choose each other. I was thankful when you both accepted. You know that Ashleigh's father was a 00, don't you?'

Charles nodded.

'Far before your time, of course, but David Kain was a rare man. An agent with a family, and an agent who actually believed that he was fighting to save the world. As 009 he had the same talent as James and Alec, yet at the same time, he was completely different from them. He wasn't in it for the glory, had no need of the women that James and Alec picked up so effortlessly, and got on with his job. After his death, I took an active interest in Ashleigh. I thought I was merely ensuring that she got the education and opportunities that her parents would have wanted for her, but after a while I realised that actually I was, for want of a better word, grooming her to be an agent. I encouraged her to study languages, to stay active, although that wasn't difficult, keeping her away from a sports pitch and focused on her studies was more of a challenge. When she graduated from university, I had a ready made agent, fluent in several languages, physically fit, and intelligent. All I had to do was see if she had the same flair for being a spy as her father did, and in her own way, yes she did. I do wonder if she could have made 00, but that's something that we will never find out. Ashleigh chose her own path, but I made sure it was one I wanted her to walk before I let her take a single step.'

M gave Charles a hard look. 'I manipulate people, Charles. It's my job. I get them to do what I want them to do, and sometimes I give them direct orders, and other times, I let them think they had the idea all by themselves. The trick is in choosing the correct tactic.'

'What did you let me do?'

'Choose your own path,' M smiled darkly.

'And James? Is he another one of your favourites?'

'James?' M gave a wry laugh. 'James is a challenge. You can't order James to do anything. I've certainly tried, and sometimes I've succeeded. James will only do what James wants to do, and if it coincides with what you would like him to do then you're in luck.'

Silence fell once more, longer this time, and M glanced at her watch. 'It's getting late,' she said unnecessarily.

Charles reached for his mug, and drained the dregs of the bourbon. 'Yes, sir.'

'James is an adversary, not a favourite. But sometimes, it's those who challenge you that you respect more.' M stood, straightening her jacket, tucking the hip flask away. 'I have some work for you. I'd like you to start it first thing tomorrow morning. There's a new United Nations building being built in Switzerland. I need a complete security analysis of the layout.' M slid a small memory card across the desk, which Charles pocketed immediately.

'Yes, sir. Goodnight, sir.'

'Goodnight, Charles.' With a final nod, M left the room. Charles was left listening to the fading click of her high heels as she made her way down the corridors.

His leg was starting to ache once more.


	35. Chapter Thirty Four

* * *

See - I haven't forgotten about Natasha. She's still about.

* * *

'The child is sick,' Jasmin Van Dien announced with an amount of distaste as she stalked into Pierre Merkalov's so called Control Room. She pulled a chair back viciously, and threw herself into it, plucking at the dark fabric of her skirt as if examining it for stains.

Pierre Merkalov, huge hulking and bear like, was leaning over several plans, staring at them intently. At Jasmin's words he looked up, his small gold rimmed glasses perched on the end of his nose.

'What do you mean 'sick'?' he asked in a low voice.

Either Jasmin didn't notice the slightly dangerous tone in Merkalov's voice, or she stupidly chose to ignore it.

'Sick,' she snapped, barely throwing a glance in his direction. 'Throwing up, heaving, vomiting, puking, however you wish to describe it.'

Merkalov removed his glasses, folded them and carefully placed them inside his shirt pocket. He pinched the bridge of his nose where the glasses had rubbed between, his thumb and forefinger and sighed softly. 'Spare me the graphic descriptions. What I am asking, and I require an answer quickly, is what is the general medical condition of the girl? What is her malaise?'

Jasmin gestured off-handedly showing off perfectly manicured nails. 'She's whining of a stomach ache, headache, and that she's hot and then she's cold. And she's vomiting. Copiously.' Jasmin ticked off the symptoms on her fingers.

'And do you think that this is serious?' Merkalov asked.

'She's a child,' Jasmin snapped. 'Children get ill. Constantly, frequently, and disgustingly.'

'I take it you have no maternal instincts then?' Merkalov smiled darkly.

Jasmin indicated her flat stomach and slim frame. 'This figure takes a lot of work, and I'm not about to spoil it spawning some brat.'

'Ashleigh Trevelyan seems to have kept her figure,' he said pointedly. 'Remarkably well.'

Jasmin said nothing, merely throwing her hair back over her shoulder; however Merkalov caught the petulant expression on her face before it was hidden by her hair.

'Did it cross your mind,' Merkalov continued in a sweetly reasonable tone, 'that we are supposed to be moving our young charge to a more secure location within the next twenty four hours, and that this sudden bout of illness could ruin everything!'

The last words were released in a roar, Merkalov slamming his fist down hard upon the desk. Jasmin jumped, her face blanching beneath her neatly applied make up.

'Of course it did,' she spat furiously, trying to hide her nervousness beneath hostility. 'But children get ill.'

'And you're a paediatrician now, are you?'

'No,' Jasmin flushed hotly. 'But its hardly going to be serious is it? It's just a bug!'

'Is it?' Merkalov said coolly, and turning, he left the room.

Jasmin threw herself back into the chair, and resumed examining her skirt. If the little brat had soiled it in any way... She groaned, and slouched further into the seat, crossing her arms stubbornly across her chest. The situation was getting more and more ridiculous with every passing hour. So what if the girl was sick? Children got ill and they got better just as quickly.

It was all a fuss about nothing.

* * *

Natasha Trevelyan ran her hand over her small face and felt how wet it was. She didn't know if it was from sweat or tears, but she was hot and she was frightened, and then she would be cold, and she would shiver horribly, and she wanted her mummy, and she wanted her daddy and she was so scared.

The sick feeling was rising once more, and she lifted her head up feebly, scrabbling for the bowl that the tall lady had left for her. 'If you're going to be sick, be sick into this,' she had said meanly, before thrusting the bowl at Natasha. Natasha had wanted to stick her tongue out at the woman but she had thrown up instead.

She thought she had managed to get most of it in the bowl, but the tall lady had looked disgusted, so maybe she had accidentally splashed her.

She threw up again, mostly froth with bile now. Her throat felt raw from the continued onslaught of her stomach acid, and she coughed horribly. Her head throbbed too, and she wanted to go to sleep, but every time she tried, the room would spin, even with her eyes closed and she hated the feeling.

Natasha didn't know how long she had been in the room for. She had been thrown back in there after her last escape attempt, and she had once more lost track of night and day. She still missed her parents, but the memories she had of them were becoming vaguer, and she wondered if they still thought of her. She had thought they would have come and found her by now, but they hadn't. She wondered if they were looking for her, and that was why they couldn't find her, because she was so well hidden.

She didn't know. She didn't know what to believe anymore.

She huddled under the sweat soaked blanket, her hair sticking to her face. It had worked free from the braid she usually wore it in, and she had pulled it as she had slept fitfully, so that it stuck up wildly in places. Curling herself up into a ball, she cried.

She didn't hear him enter the room. She mewed pitifully as another spasm of pain wracked through her. She felt the bed sink below her, as someone sat next to her and then a large hand cupped her head, brushing away the damp strands of hair from her forehead.

'Hush,' a low voice crooned, 'hush, my darling.'

She knew it wasn't her father. She cried harder.

Strong arms lifted her up slightly, and she found herself pulled into a half embrace, tucked against a broad, strong chest. Her damp face stuck against a thick wool jumper which smelt of a rich, warm, slightly musky aftershave.

'Are you not well, Natasha?' the gruff voice asked.

Natasha shook her head. 'Feel sick,' she gulped between sobs.

'In your tummy?'

A nod.

'And your head?'

Another nod.

'Well that's not very good, is it?'

'No,' she sniffed. 'And I've got spots,' she announced tearfully.

Merkalov felt his blood freeze. 'Spots?' he asked, trying to keep his voice calm.

'Lots of them. On my tummy.'

'Can I see them?' he asked.

Natasha obliged, pulling up the pink top of her pyjamas. To Merkalov's horror, her skin was indeed faintly decorated with a rash. It was faint, but definitely there.

Meningitis. The fear struck Merkalov deep in the centre of his chest. He carefully released Natasha, tucking her back into bed. He crossed the room, hitting a small button by the door.

'Sir?' a voice asked immediately.

'Get a doctor here. Now.' The seriousness of the order impressed itself upon the guard, and less than three minutes had passed when the sound of running feet was heard in the corridor.

* * *

The doctor glanced up, tucking his stethoscope back into his white coat. He was a middle aged man more used to dealing with gunshot wounds and other injuries the men who worked for Merkalov managed to inflict upon each other rather than childhood diseases. He looked curiously at the small girl but knew it was worth more than his life's worth to question why she was there.

'Is it?' Merkalov asked tersely.

'Meningitis?' the doctor asked, straightening up and buttoning up his coat. 'It's unlikely. However, I think what we have here is a rapidly presenting case of chickenpox.'

'Chickenpox?' Merkalov relaxed visibly, and the doctor caught the movement. He took another sneaky look at the child who was now looking at the bottle of medicine he had produced with some suspicion, and noted how sweet she looked. Feeling his eyes upon her, Natasha looked up, and the doctor once more thought how adult her pale green eyes looked in her childish face.

'Chickenpox,' he confirmed briskly. 'Perfectly safe, well, as long as anyone who comes into contact with her has had the virus. Especially if they come into close contact with her. Chickenpox in children is perfectly manageable, it can be far more serious in adults.'

'How soon will she get better?'

'Oh, once the sickness passes she'll be much better. I'll give her ibuprofen, which should bring the fever down quickly. The rash is going to be the problem; she'll go half mad with the itching. Try to stop her scratching; it'll be a shame to for her to scar herself.'

'Scars,' Merkalov murmured quietly.

Natasha looked up sharply. 'My daddy has scars,' she said matter of factly. 'He was in a fire. He has them on his face and on his body. He doesn't like them.'

She fell silent again, picking up the small plastic spoon with which the doctor would give her the medicine with and examining it curiously.

'Does he?' the doctor asked, avoiding Merkalov's eye.

'Yes. My daddy is going to come and get me soon,' Natasha said, staring up at Merkalov. 'He promised he would.'

The doctor decided that the situation was one that he would do well not to get involved in. He opened the bottle, and poured out a carefully measured spoonful. Natasha swallowed obediently, a slight grimace on her face.

'I'll bring you some magic cream,' the doctor said to her, 'that will help you with the itching. Camomile lotion,' he explained to Merkalov.

'You do that,' Merkalov said, his attention completely focused on the girl.

The doctor sensed that his presence was no longer welcome. He shrugged and made to leave.

'Wait,' Merkalov called him back. 'How would she have picked up the virus?' he asked.

The doctor shrugged. 'Ask if any of the guards have children, and if they have the virus. They may have carried it in with them.' The doctor inclined his head respectfully, almost a bow to Merkalov. 'If that's all, sir?'

'Yes, of course,' Merkalov dismissed him with a wave of his hand.

The fear that had struck him deep in the belly was receding slowly. Merkalov forced a deep breath inside him. Meningitis. It was the illness that most parents feared, striking quickly, indiscriminately and sometimes fatally. For a horrible moment, seeing those faint spots on Natasha's stomach, Merkalov had thought he was going to lose her. Alec Trevelyan's wrath was terrible enough for just the kidnap of his child, if she died; Merkalov knew it would push Alec beyond all reason and restraint. The child lived because Merkalov wanted her to live. Because if she lived, he had Alec under his control. To think that fate could have dealt a lethal hand, snatching the child away quickly and irreversibly made Merkalov break out in a cold sweat.

Chickenpox, he thought, letting out an almost manic bark of a laugh. Natasha looked up startled, she was still pale and covered in sweat, but already he thought he could see an improvement in her. She had kept the medicine down so far and he hoped it would be quick acting.

'Am I properly sick?' she asked quietly.

'Yes, you are,' Merkalov eased himself back down onto the bed once more, his back leaning against the wall. Natasha shifted out of the way to make room for him.

'With chickenpox?'

'Yes. Chickenpox. You're going to have a rash for a little while and you're going to be itchy, but you'll get better.'

'Ok,' she agreed, tugging at her plait.

'Natasha?'

'Yes?' she looked up at him with those green eyes that were undeniably Alec's and Merkalov felt coldness spread through him.

'When did your father tell you he was going to come for you?'

'I don't know when,' she yawned sleepily.

'Was it since you've been here?'

She gave him a scornful look. 'No.'

'When, then?'

'I don't know. But Daddy always said that if anyone took me away, he'd find them, and he'd find me. So I know he's coming for me.'

'Natasha?' he asked softly.

'Yes?'

'Are you sure about that?' he said, looking deep into her eyes.

For a moment she frowned, and he knew she was struggling to understand what he meant, her childish mind working hard to keep up with the adult. Slowly, he saw understanding dawn. 'But he said he would,' she said quietly. 'He promised.'

'Sometimes grown ups break their promises.' He was slowly planting a seed of doubt inside her mind.

'But Daddy said he would come and get me!' her high voice became shriller still, and he saw her small hands clench into fists.

'But Natasha,' Merkalov continued in his low, cajoling tone. 'He hasn't come. Has he?'

The fists seemed to clench even tighter, he heard her swallow hard, and he pressed forward his advantage.

'You've been here a long time, and your daddy hasn't come for you. Maybe he doesn't want you any more, Natasha. Maybe that's why he hasn't come for you.'

The first tear slipped down her illness flushed cheek, followed by a second and then a third. He put his arm around her, dwarfing her completely, and as the first sobs broke free, she buried her face into his side.

'Its ok, my darling,' he crooned to her, rocking gently back and forth. 'It's ok. Your Granpére is here. Granpére will look after you.'


	36. Chapter Thirty Five

My internet has been offline for four weeks. Once I got over the initial panic, I managed to focus long enough to start writing. I am now a good amount of chapters ahead, in fact writing this seems a very long time ago! Am apologising in advance for the romance in this, I know it's out of my comfort zone.

* * *

Alec Trevelyan always knew that his wife would ask the question, and part of him was surprised that she had waited so long. She had gently prised information from him on the subject, using subtler methods, but she had never asked outright.

Now as Ashleigh lay in his arms, warm and content, he felt her yawn, and then tense. He knew her eyes had fallen on one of the framed photographs that were tucked away in an alcove, and he felt, with sudden instinct and insight, that she was about to ask. His shoulders were rigid with tension, and his mouth dry as his mind raced, trying to find the words that he should have rehearsed, that he should have formed into coherent sentences long ago.

It should have been a peaceful evening. Their daughter, Natasha, who had turned three a few months ago, was already showing all the signs of having inherited both her parents' innate stubbornness. Alec, used to having been adored by his daughter from the moment she had been born, was struggling to come to terms with this new found wilfulness. She had been a placid child, sweet and calm, and when the 'terrible twos' had failed to materialise, both Alec and Ashleigh had breathed a sigh of relief. Instead, Natasha had merely been biding her time until she could form sentences and now, three years old and tiny, with a mass of thick, dark hair, and knowing green eyes, she would glare at her parents, and start the lip trembling that always presented itself when she didn't get her own way. Earlier in the evening, Alec had fought with her, trying to get her to settle into bed, despite the sound of driving rain lashing against the windows, and despite the fact that Natasha, with the canny ability all children seem to have, knew her parents had a quiet night together planned. Her favourite stuffed toy, a rather battered and well gnawed lion, had bore the brunt of her temper and had been thrown across the room several times, followed by two books, a teddy bear, and finally, her pillow and half her bedding. Three stories, and several cuddles later, an exhausted Natasha had finally stopped fighting sleep, and a relieved Alec had gently manoeuvred his daughter back under the covers, and slipped as quietly as he could from the room and down the hallway where his wife had waited with a warm smile, tight jeans and a black top that showed off her pale skin and a hint of cleavage. Not to mention a bottle of vodka and a roaring fire.

'Alec?' Ashleigh shifted against him, her hand was resting lightly on his chest, her face tucked against his shoulder, her breath warm on his throat. Her fingers found and toyed with the v neck of his soft black jumper. One finger found warm flesh beneath the wool and despite his nerves, he felt the same gentle thrill that he always did when she touched him, that flicker of electricity that seemed to ignite whenever their skin came into contact.

He couldn't manage words, he made a small noncommittal murmur in the back of his throat. He stroked the back of her head, smoothing the short hair into the nape of her neck. It didn't deter her, even when he slipped a hand under her top to trace the line of her spine.

'Tell me about my father,' she whispered, pressing her lips to the line of his jaw.

He sat up abruptly, nearly toppling her to the floor. She frowned in confusion at him. 'Alec?' she asked again, but there was more determination in her voice this time, and her hand clutched at the front of his jumper, as if she were restraining him, trying to stop him running from her.

'Now?' he asked uncomfortably.

'Yes, now!' she laughed, but he could tell she was rattled, the smile didn't quite reach her eyes.

'I did rather have other things on my mind,' Alec said, trying to draw her closer, hoping that he could take her mind off the subject with some physical persuasion, but she wriggled from his grasp, pulling back to look into his eyes.

'It's important to me,' she tried to explain. 'You know what it's like to lose your parents, but you, well, you knew mine. You were friends with my father, and I want to know what he was like, what he was like with you, what you thought of him.'

'It was a long time ago, Ash,' he slumped back against the arm of the sofa, feeling her weight pinning him in place. He ran his hand over his hair, a gesture that Ashleigh knew he did when he was trying to think, trying to find a way of avoiding the subject.

'Not that long ago,' she said softly. She sat up, pulling away from him.

'Perhaps not,' he agreed, sitting up, wrapping his arms around her waist, pressing his chin onto her shoulder. Her hair tickled his face, her back pressed into his chest, and he pulled her even tighter, drawing his legs up to completely surround her. She lay back against him, hooking a foot around his ankle. 'But there's so much water under the bridge, so much has happened,' he continued softly, almost apologetically, and he felt her stiffen in anger in his arms.

'Do you know it was the anniversary of his death last week?' Ashleigh said coldly, but she relaxed slightly in his embrace.

'Of course,' he murmured. Of course he did. It was unlikely that he could forget. He swallowed hard.

'Sometimes I wonder if they ever existed,' Ashleigh said softly, staring into the fireplace. She realised what she had said, and colour rose in her cheeks. She hated showing sentimentality in front of Alec. She always felt like it was a failing in her. 'What I mean, is that it just seems so long ago. I can barely remember.'

'Nearly twenty years for your father. Over twenty for your mother.' By not saying their names, Alec discovered he could just about manage to speak on the subject.

'So long ago. I'm getting old,' Ashleigh sighed, leaning her head back on his chest, so she could look at him upside down. 'Can you see the wrinkles?'

'I can barely see your face for wrinkles,' he almost smiled, relieved to be let off the hook.

They sat in amicable silence, enjoying the peace that Natasha being in bed afforded them. Alec stared at the room, a warm, comfortable room with thick cream carpet, soft neutral colours on the walls, and filled with large, comfortable seating. They were lying on a large, soft, dark brown leather sofa, a soft cashmere throw underneath them to protect them from the cold leather. A fireplace dominated one side of the room, although rarely used, and alcoves either side were filled with books, vases and candles. And the scattering of framed photos. Rare ones of Alec and Ashleigh together, ones showing Natasha at different ages, and of course, the ones of Ashleigh's parents.

Sometimes, he wondered how he had come to be here. When he had bought the villa, it was as a hide away, somewhere he could come and recover if needs be, or somewhere to hide from those searching for him. It was private and so secluded as to be reclusive. It was surrounded by a high wall and electric gates on one side, the cliffs and the sea to the other. It had seemed like a show home, luxuriously decorated, with soft, sensuous textures, gleaming wood floors, and softly cushioned carpets. Alec had merely bought the place on a whim, and now, with Ashleigh's arrival, and Natasha's birth, it had become his home, his family's home.

He wasn't supposed to be happy. He wasn't supposed to be lying here, with his wife in his arms, a woman who had made his life surprisingly content, knowing that their beautiful daughter was asleep in a nearby room. He was supposed to be wondering where the next bullet would be coming from, not how soon he could suggest to Ashleigh that they retreat to their bed for an early night. A flicker of fear made him shiver as he wondered just how long this happiness would last.

How long it would be allowed to last.

His arms tightened involuntarily on Ashleigh, who had been falling asleep. She jumped, startled by the sudden pressure, and blinked rapidly.

'You look like him,' Alec whispered softly into her ear once she had settled again.

'Hmmm?' she murmured, pulling his arm tighter down on top of her.

'David. You look like him. Your eyes, your hair, even your smile, you look so much like him.'

'Do I?' she asked, a slow smile came to her face. 'Or are you just saying that because you think it's what I want to hear?'

'Would I lie to you?' he mocked, and she lightly slapped his hand in reproof. 'I wonder sometimes, what he'd think about all this.'

She shifted so she could look at him, saw the seriousness on his face, and she chuckled. 'You mean, how would he have reacted to all this if he was still alive?'

Alec shuddered. 'I don't even want to think about it. He may never have put them into practice, but David was very well versed in torture techniques.'

'At least you married me.' Ashleigh grinned. 'You didn't just love me and leave me. You tried to,' she amended with another smile.

It was nice being able to joke with him, to make light of their situation. There were too many times when Ashleigh had caught herself before joking with Alec, never sure of how he would take it. Especially when it came to how they met, how they came to be living in Sicily.

'Should have tried harder,' he grinned this time, and Ashleigh couldn't help but grin stupidly back. He didn't let himself smile broadly often, but when he did, his face transformed. The coldness left him, his eyes crinkled up, and he seemed suddenly approachable. Reaching for him, she pulled his mouth down to hers, kissing him fiercely.

Her gesture was warmly welcomed. He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her tightly to his chest, one hand finding the warmth of her back and stroking gently. When they finally pulled apart, Ashleigh looked slightly dazed. 'My father certainly wouldn't approve of that,' she whispered.

'I remember catching him and your mother sneaking away at one New Year's Eve party. He seemed to approve of it then.'

'I really didn't need to know that!' Ashleigh laughed.

'He was a good man,' Alec said suddenly. 'He had something to believe in. He loved you and he loved your mother so much. He wanted to defend the world, to make it a safe place for you to live in. He told me that on the night you were born. He was so drunk he couldn't remember your name, but David was still able to make James and I feel very ashamed of ourselves. Told us we were only doing it for the glory and for the fame.'

'And for the women?' Ashleigh asked innocently.

'Me?' Alec shook his head. 'Never. James was a terrible tart though. I was always in bed by 10pm.'

'Alone?' she raised an eyebrow.

'Not always,' Alec admitted with a crooked smile.

He felt her reach for her glass, heard a quiet muttered 'damn' as she realised it was empty. 'Back in a moment,' she whispered, pressing a kiss to his forehead as she made her way to the kitchen.

As soon as he heard the clink of glass on tile, he stood, walking over to the alcove where the photos were. He reached for the picture of his best friend and his wife and stared.

Alec hadn't lied. Ashleigh did look like her father. Her eyes, hair, mouth, even the slightly crooked grin she had were all his. Yet at the same time, she had aspects of her mother too. Emma Kain had curling red hair that fell messily to her shoulders, blue eyes, and pale skin, so pale that her red lips seemed like…

_Blood on snow…_

Alec gasped, as if he had been hit hard in the solar plexus. For a moment, his grip held, and the frame remained safe in his hand, but as the image swam before his eyes, he felt his fingers slacken and the photograph fell with a smash to the marble fireplace surround below.

There had been so much blood, surrounding dark hair, blood seeping into the snow, diluting into a watery pink, the life force ebbing away and there had been nothing he could do, nothing, nothing…

'Alec?' Ashleigh came running in from the kitchen. 'What happened?' With one look she took in the bent double Alec, who was holding onto the edge of the fireplace for support, and the broken glass on the marble below. 'Are you all right?'

'Yes, fine!' he managed to gasp. He felt strangely dizzy, the memories crashing through him. He felt as if a cold icy wind was biting into him, as it had that day.

She ignored her, her slim arms circling around his chest, helping him upright, and backwards onto the sofa. He slumped backwards, only able to see her dark eyes, her father's eyes staring accusingly at him, and he closed his own against their penetrating stare.

'Darling?' she whispered, and he felt her lips brush his cheek. 'Alec?'

'I'm fine,' he managed at last, one hand reaching for her. 'Just a strange… moment.'

'You had me worried!' Ashleigh laughed nervously, although relief was evident in her voice. 'Stay there,' she ordered, 'I'll clean up.'

She knelt beside the fire place, reaching for the broken glass. She picked up the remains of the frame, checking the photograph was not damaged and put it to one side. Then she reached for the jagged shards of glass.

'Shit,' Alec's eyes flew open at the expletive. Ashleigh was cradling her hand, blood was dripping from between her clenched fingers, the droplets falling to the pale marble below.

He had to force himself forwards, to help her, to see how badly she had cut herself. The terrible image was still there, scarlet on white, and the blood on marble was too close to that image for comfort. He felt nausea rise, and fought it down.

'How stupid of me,' Ashleigh said through gritted teeth. 'It's nothing, honest,' she almost managed a smile as he carefully unbent her fingers.

The cut was deep but clean, there was no glass visible in the sliced skin.

'Stay here,' he ordered, and she smiled wryly, acknowledging the authority in his tone, but she didn't move.

In the kitchen, he took the opportunity to take a deep breath.

He had always known she would ask, and he had never rehearsed his answer. Had never attempted to figure out what he might reply. Instead, he had waited, and in the end, it seemed he had passed the test. Relief washed through him, icy cold and sharp, but relief all the same. She hadn't asked more and he wouldn't have to answer more.

'Alec! Quick!' A panicked Ashleigh called from the living room.

'Patience, woman,' he grumbled, as he crouched beside her once more, wrapping the cloth he had brought from the kitchen around her hand before the red droplets could make their threatened descent to the cream carpet. Blood blossomed brightly and immediately upon the white cloth. 'You'll survive. Probably.'

'Thank you for that diagnosis, Doctor,' she teased him, examining her makeshift bandage. With a sigh, she slumped back against the sofa, tucking her legs underneath her. 'I've ruined the mood, haven't I?' she said quietly. Her dark hair fell over one eye, the other peeped out at him, watching him. Her top was slipping off one of her shoulders, showing creamy skin bisected by a black bra strap, and he ran his finger along the thin line of material, just hesitating at the point where it disappeared underneath the soft fabric of her top. He felt her catch her breath at his touch, and he laughed softly.

'I don't know about that,' he murmured, sliding his hand under her jaw, tilting her head back so he could lean forward and gently press his lips to hers. They parted immediately, drawing him deeper into her, feeling her arms wrap around him, and suddenly, they were on the floor, Ashleigh underneath him, her body willingly moulding against his, one leg hooked over his hip, letting him know exactly what she wanted him to do to her, and he found the soft skin of her stomach, his hands tracing the line of her ribs, seeking out the warm, firm contours of her breasts. She copied him, her nails lightly scratching the length of his spine, stroking the breadth of his shoulders, pulling him down, arching against him.

The desire hit them suddenly, urgently, and they were lost in each other. It had been too long since they had just given into their passion, let it take over without being planned. Their kisses grew deeper, hungrier…

'What are you doing?'

A small, outraged voice shattered the moment. Alec and Ashleigh jumped apart suddenly, like two teenagers caught out, and struggled to rearrange themselves.

Natasha stood in the door way, dressed in white pyjamas with little blue flowers all over them. She held her beloved, battered lion in one hand, although he was almost being dragged along the floor. Her dark hair was wild and tangled, her small face indignant.

'Darling, you should be asleep,' Ashleigh struggled to her feet, nearly knocking over Alec who was attempting the same thing.

'Couldn't,' Natasha argued, although the large yawn that followed seemed to contradict her. As did the rubbing of her eyes with her free hand.

'Back to bed,' Alec ordered, scooping up his daughter into his arms. She immediately buried her face into his shoulder, eyes drooping already.

'Bed,' Ashleigh whispered into Alec's ear, with a hint of promise. 'As soon as possible.'

'Five minutes,' Alec said firmly, kissing Ash hard, but quickly on the mouth.

'Maybe less,' Ashleigh chuckled, smoothing down Natasha's hair. The little girl was struggling to stay awake.

'I hope so,' Alec said fervently.

Ashleigh smiled as she watched her husband and daughter disappear down the hallway, Natasha waving sleepily at her mother over her father's shoulder. Ashleigh stretched languorously, before dashing round the living room tidying up. Her fingers throbbed as she did so, but she didn't care. She couldn't wait to get to bed.

Three minutes later, as she slipped into the bedroom, she smiled again. She heard Alec say his final, whispered goodnight to their daughter, and then he was in the room, and she was in his arms, kissing him, telling him how much she wanted him.

As they tumbled onto the soft bed, she allowed herself a knowing, almost smirking, smile.

For Ashleigh Trevelyan, life was good.


	37. Chapter Thirty Six

High in the Alps, the headlights lit up the crystals of the frozen snow, making the bleak landscape almost beautiful. The moment James Bond noticed this, he turned them off with a vicious twist. The car's heaters made feeble attempts to warm the interior of the car, but still Bond's breath came in clouds of fog that steamed up the windows and blocked his view through the windscreen.

Stepping out of the car, he shivered against the biting cold. Autumn was rapidly approaching and nowhere more than here. A few feeble flakes of snow drifted idly onto his dark hair, in a month or two's time the entire area would be covered in a dense layer of snow, but now it was only about two inches deep, just enough to cover the soles and part of his shoes. With a touch of impatience, he brushed the snow from his hair, although it had already melted leaving a cold dampness that irritated him further. He folded up the collar of his heavy, lined black leather jacket and scowled into the night.

Bond had never longed for a cigarette more. He had quit, on doctor's orders, some years before. She had told him that the habit was causing him to show his age. He had had to work hard to prove to her otherwise. A sudden image of unpinned dark blonde hair falling onto the shoulders of a crisp white jacket came to mind, the hazel eyes peering amusedly over the rim of her glasses. He thought he had acquitted himself well. Now his fingers twitched towards a non existent pack, and cursing the doctor quietly under his breath, he shoved his hands into his pockets instead.

It was bloody ridiculous. He shouldn't be here. He was on leave for Christ's sake. M's specific orders. 'Take a holiday, 007. Or I'll be forced to have you shot.'

He wasn't entirely sure if she had been joking, or not. After all, this was the same boss who had had him abandoned in a Korean torture camp for several months. One became slightly suspicious after something like that. He hadn't tried to argue, much, and had stomped out of her office in decidedly bad grace.

Compassionate leave.

M might has well have come out and said it. 'Terribly sorry your lover was brutally killed, 007. Take three weeks off. That ought to make it all better.'

Jasmin.

The name was a knife in his heart. Grief? Or something more complicated than that? He didn't dare examine his feelings too closely. What it all boiled down to was that yet another of Bond's lovers had died on his watch. There had been too many, too many lovers and too many deaths. Bond may have a license to kill in cold blood, but that didn't mean that he didn't regret the women who had died because of him.

Tracy. Tracy, his beautiful wife had been one of the first to die. It was one of Bond's favourite things to do, and also the thing he did to punish himself, to think about what might have been with Tracy. Moments before she had been killed, they had been discussing how many children they would have had together. Tracy's children would have been beautiful. He could never bring himself to think of them as 'their' children, somehow he could never see his own genetics being replicated.

He wondered if it would have ever have worked out. Would he have been able to continue as a spy? Would he have quit his career for Tracy and their family? Having children changed everything. Would he still have been able to kill, knowing he would have to return to his children?

He thought back to a day several weeks ago. Seeing Ashleigh for the first time again, knowing that in the time that had passed since they had seen each other she had become a mother. A mother? She was barely an adult herself, how on earth could she be a mother? And not to a baby either, a child, five years old and the image of Ashleigh at that age. Bond has always felt something towards Ashleigh, not fatherly exactly, but a responsibility. He could remember holding her at her christening, in the beautiful church near to the family home in Islington, a small white lace bundle in his arms, staring up at him with total trust as he promised to protect her always. It had seemed to him then that she had understood what he was saying and she was certainly going to hold him to it.

He hadn't stayed for long after the christening, making his excuses early and going to meet Alec in a small club in Jermyn Street. Alec had already been at the bar, and spotting James arriving, had signalled the barman for a very large vodka. They had spent the rest of the evening getting steadily drunk and referring to James as 'The Godfather' and humming the same few bars of music again and again, increasingly tunelessly as the night progressed.

How they had both been so relieved that it hadn't happened to them. Fatherhood was not something a spy should ever enter into. David Kain has been insane for even thinking he could raise a child while being in his chosen career.

As the years had passed, Alec and David's executions had only confirmed that idea for James. When Alec had returned, not once, but twice, James had been forced to confront his own mortality, not to mention his age. Whenever James looked at Ashleigh, he saw David. He saw his looks, his mannerisms, even the way they both nervously chewed at the edge of their thumbnail when anxious. Finally James has understood one of the reasons why people had children. While Ashleigh lived, David was remembered, he could never truly die.

If James died, who would remember him? Moneypenny? M? Charles? A few devastated women, weeping and wailing into their black lace trimmed handkerchiefs? Alec had dragged those images into the forefront of his mind and they had never truly left.

Swamped in self pity, James almost failed to notice the car headlights appearing in the distance, slowly making its way across the perilous terrain.

In that moment, he realised that he was once more jealous of Alec Trevelyan. It infuriated him. James was alone. There were no children to carry on the Bond genes, to remember their father, the great spy, the Naval Commander. No comfort to him in his old age. Yet in the effortless manner that Alec always had, Alec has swanned in under his nose and taken a young wife and fathered a child on her. The insult was direct, pointed and venomous. Alec, despite his scarring, was still an attractive men and had no shortage of women wanting to warm his bed. Instead he had chosen the one woman that James couldn't, and wouldn't have. His goddaughter.

Bloody Ashleigh. She had fallen in love with the one man that James truly hated. Sitting in their house, their home, watching the way Alec touched her, and the way Ashleigh responded to that touch, as if she wanted him, loved him. The intimacy had been the final straw, and in that moment, envy had consumed him completely, utterly, and his only solution to the problem had been to get blindingly drunk.

As for Natasha, well, he felt sorry for Ashleigh that she had lost her daughter, but for Alec? Well, what did the bastard expect? From the moment of her birth that child had been at risk, it had only been a matter of time before one of Alec's enemies decided to use Alec's daughter against him.

The child was a nonentity to him. She was merely a target, her rescue something to aim for, even though the trail had gone severely cold. James suspected that M was planning something, but M was always planning something. Contact with Charles had been equally hazy, and Charles was fighting his own bitterness towards Alec. James suspected it was more because of the wound he had received at Alec's hands rather than any lingering feelings for Ashleigh Kain. James was just waiting for something to happen and he somehow felt that tonight something would happen.

M had contacted him, asking him to pick up a parcel that was travelling by unofficial means. At first James has refused, pointing out that he was on leave thanks to her orders, and petulantly adding that he wasn't her errand boy. M had been her usually snippy self, pointing out that he was on leave by her grace and that the Columbian mission was still available if he preferred to do that. Or if he preferred a third option, he could always defect.

James had chosen the first option and so it was that he was standing on the side of a mountain in the Alps musing on life, love and the Universe in general.

Only one good thing had come from this assignment and that had been Jasmin. In Jasmin he had found someone passionate and as dedicated to her career as him. She had been young, sexy and superb in bed, and James knew that part of her attraction had been sticking two fingers up at Alec and showing that he could still bed the beauties. His competitive spirit had even started considering that perhaps he could have had a future with Van Dien. Perhaps settle down with her, perhaps even children.

The logical part of his brain had screamed its displeasure at this idea, but something inside Bond was tired. If he was truly honest, he was getting too old for this. His reactions were getting slower, it was barely noticeable, but he noticed it. It was taking longer to recover from injury and his joints ached when he woke up. He would catch a glimpse of himself in the mirror, and note the deep crevasses around his eyes, the slight sagging of the jowls, the way his skin creped slightly over his muscles. He was still an attractive man, but the silver hairs at his temples told him he was getting older. And again, his thoughts came back to the same thing. _What do I have to show for my life?_

Medals. High ranking kills. A reputation of being one of the most lethal men in the world, a worthy adversary and a born survivor.

With a shuddering sigh he buried his face into his hands, rubbing his fingers over his eyes, feeling the skin drag under his fingertips. He slid them under his jaw, barely noticing the stubble there before cupping them around the back of his neck, stretching with his elbows thrust out.

Jasmin.

Brutally murdered on duty. K.I.A - Killed in Action. The acronym infuriated him. How casual it made it all seem. 'Van Dien? Oh yes, K.I.A, I'm afraid.' He could easily imagine some whey faced civil servant in MI6's records department making the note of the agent's sudden demise. Jasmin would have her own plaque of course, on the ubiquitous MI6 Memorial Wall. The Hall of Fame, so to speak.

So much life cut so short.

He breathed out slowly, his breath frosting into thin streams of steam. He needed to gain control again and quickly, the car had almost reached him.

It stopped in a vicious jerk, throwing the back end round violently. A non descript black saloon car, Bond could have guessed that was what it would be, he'd seen too many of these cars before. Inside the car, the two men were already removing seatbelts and out of habit, Bond fingered the weapon tucked inside his jacket. No harm in being prepared.

'You? You waiting for us?' The driver shouted as he clambered from the car. He had a thick accent, and Bond struggled to place it. Polish perhaps, but certainly not local.

'You see anyone else here?' Bond's tone was as cold as the night.

'She sent us,' the man ignored the frosty reception. There was no doubt who 'she' was, only one woman commanded that sort of respect and mistrust in one single word.

'What have you got? Some sort of package?'

The man snorted. 'You could say that.' He translated the sentence to his companion who laughed loudly. 'In the boot,' he gestured towards the back of the car.

Bond fumbled with the catch of the boot lid, his fingers feeling numb with the cold. He finally popped it free and it sprang open.

He stepped backwards in surprise before he could stop himself.

Ashleigh smiled darkly up at him, her head resting on a dark holdall. She held her hand out to him, and he grabbed it, helping to pull her out of the cramped space.

'Special delivery, James.'


	38. Chapter Thirty Seven

Hopefully this chapter will explain a little more about the backstory between Alec and Ashleigh's father. In case I don't post before hand, Merry Christmas to all!

* * *

_He fell. Skidding on the icy path as he tried to run, tried to get there before anything could happen. He felt his boots hit the slick patch of ice, hidden just beneath the frozen crystals of the snow, his centre of balance thrown off completely as one foot moved in one direction, the other in its polar opposite. He managed to bite back a small cry as he fell forward, hands out to protect himself, hitting the ground with a thud that made the guards turn and stare at him._

_For a moment, Alec lay there, feeling the snow melting against the warmth of his cheek, soothing the damaged skin there. He was surrounded by the crisp white light reflecting in the snow, and he wanted nothing more than to stay there, never to move again, relishing the coldness, the chill against his skin softly caressing like a lover's touch. _

_Laughter made him lift his head, and he scowled at the two guards who pointed and laughed at his clumsiness. His face flushed, bringing a raw jab of pain to the right hand side of his face as the blood tore through the scarred skin there. He scrambled to his feet, pulling the scarf up higher around his face so that they could not see, and he hated himself for this vanity, the same vanity that made him alternate between seeking out a mirror and hiding from them. One moment he wanted to see, to witness, to confirm what a monster he had become, the next he would smash the glass with a fist, or upon the ground, hating it for showing nothing but the truth. _

_The right hand side of his face had been burnt away because of James. He had felt the skin bubble and burst, felt the blood almost boil as it slipped down his cheek. He had been burnt on his chest as well, the thin material of his shirt offering no protection from the flames. He had passed out, only rousing when he had felt hands gripping at his shoulders, dragging him away, causing him to scream when they touched raw flesh. _

_His men had saved him only to abandon him. And then, one night, as Alec had slept fitfully in a bed that seemed like a hospital bed, he had come. And Alec had almost wept to see a familiar face, one he recognised and knew, and one whom he almost loved. _

_Alec had muttered fitfully that he wanted to die. That he could not bear to live how he was, how he had become. It had been the sickness speaking, the fever caused by infection, infection that was treated by the constant drip of antibiotics into his veins. He was shackled to the bed by the very medicine that was healing him. _

_Not death, the man had advised. Not your death. _

_Revenge, Alec had breathed the word, the word that had been hovering at the edge of his consciousness. James. Kill James. _

_Somewhere deep inside him a voice protested. Not James. James was his brother, his comrade, his friend. _

_James betrayed you. Three minutes, not six. He made you into this monster. _

_The voice had spoken rationally, almost sweetly, convincing, coaxing, persuading. And then the ultimate promise._

'_I will help you.'_

_Would he help? What could this bearded man do that Alec could not?_

_I can support you. Give you men. Help me and in return I shall give you power. _

_So he had dragged Alec from his bed. Made him start again. Help me and I shall help you. Scratch my back and I'll scratch yours harder._

_Alec hadn't seen it then. He had been flattered by the older man's assistance. And Le Loup was a valuable ally to have. _

_He hadn't seen that Le Loup wanted to control Alec Trevelyan. That Alec Trevelyan was a rival, one who could break Le Loup. And in helping him, Le Loup ensured his rival's loyalty. _

_Le Loup, Pierre Merkalov, was a dangerous man. His men were loyal to the death. They were his pack, his wolves, and Le Loup was the Alpha Male. The men who were the bravest, the most daring, the most brutal and lethal killers wore a ring, given to them by their leader. A gold ring, a signet ring, but with no Latin motto or family crest. Just the simple etching of a wolf's head, a few lines creating the almost beautiful image. _

_Pierre Merkalov guided Alec through his recovery. Now as the hair began to grow back on his head, as his eyebrow regained its shape, Alec Trevelyan waited. He waited for the moment when he would have to prove his loyalty to Le Loup. _

_The other men, the Wolves, watched and waited too. They had seen the way that Merkalov treated this interloper. They knew his reputation as an English spy, as a Cossack, as a traitor. They laughed at his burnt skin, and turned their backs when he approached. Alec hated them. He knew he shouldn't, that he should feel nothing but scorn for them, but he heard their mocking and he despised them for it. _

_He knew Merkalov was almost training him to take over. That if the unthinkable would happen to Le Loup, Alec would take over as the alpha male. _

_It was a heavy thought. Alec knew the only way to command their respect would be to put the fear of God into them. He had already proved his strength once, half killing a man with his bare hands who had challenged him. The man had been taller, stronger, but Alec fought hard and cleanly, and had quickly outwitted him. Once Alec had broken the man's collar bone with a single hard jab, the fool had retreated to lick his wounds, and the men no longer laughed in his face. _

_Just behind his back. _

_He could cope with that. He would fight them all if he had to. Alec could wait. He could bide his time for as long as it took. But he would have their damned respect!_

_So he raised his chin, and stalked past them and as he did so one turned and spat at his feet._

'_English spy.'_

_Alec turned, before either of the other men could react he grabbed the man who had spoken by his collar and rammed him hard against the nearest wall, his arm across the man's throat. Hatred flared in the man's dark eyes, but sensibly he held his tongue._

'_What did you say?' Alec asked quietly._

'_English spy,' the man answered stubbornly._

'_And why would you say that?' Alec asked, almost reasonably. _

'_Because,' the man played his trump card, 'we captured one this morning. Le Loup has him now. In the courtyard.'_

_Slowly Alec released the man, releasing his grip. He felt stunned, as if he had just received a blow to the head, and he struggled to make sense of the information he had just heard._

_The courtyard. It was where Le Loup ordered punishments._

_And executions._

_Turning, Alec ran. _

_He arrived gasping for breath, the cold biting into his lungs with every inhalation. He slithered to a stop as he caught a glimpse of a figure being held by two men, his arms behind his back, half kneeling in the snow, his head pulled back by the hair. _

_Dark hair._

_Alec knew that hair._

'_James,' he breathed, and the word was a promise. Alec had waited for revenge, and revenge had come to him. _

_Le Loup looked round at the new arrival, and the bear like man, even more so in the heavy coat and fur lined hat, smiled at Alec, his protégée. _

'_We have been waiting for you,' he said in his gruff, strangely accented voice. _

'_I'm here now,' Alec smiled cruelly. _

_Silently, Le Loup, Merkalov, held out the pistol, and Alec's fingers reached out for it without even realising he was doing it. The metal felt alive to touch, cold and lethal, he adjusted his grip on the weapon, feeling the weight of it, the power of such a simple object. _

_As the men parted for him, opening a pathway through the crowd gathered to watch this sport, he dragged his eyes up from the gun, from the snow between his feet, and saw truly, for the first time, the man he was about to kill._

_A horror rose within him, causing him to stop and stare, and he staggered slightly._

_James? The thought rose in his head, and already he knew he was wrong, that this was wrong, that the man was wrong. _

_James?_

_The spy had been beaten, his handsome face bruised and blood stained. Dark hair, soaked by the snow, fell over his face. _

_Somewhere in the distance, Alec heard Merkalov's laughter and knew that this would be his test. His moment to prove his loyalty. _

_The pistol suddenly became a leaden weight in his hand, his numb fingers didn't seem to have the strength to hold it any longer. More than at any other moment in his life he wanted to run. To throw the gun to the ground, to turn tail and to run as far away from this place as he could. _

_He stood firm, knowing that to take even a single step backwards would be to show cowardice. _

_The man holding the left arm of the spy tightened his grip brutally, and the spy tried to hold back his cry of agony. Alec saw now that the arm was broken, and badly. It didn't matter. _

_He could hear the spy's jagged breathing, the repetitive whistling as the air tore through gritted teeth. He opened his mouth to say something, but couldn't speak, he could only process one thought._

_It wasn't James. _

_He turned his head to Merkalov, who nodded his approval. 'The honour is to be yours.'_

_At these words, deliberately spoken in English, even though Alec knew the man spoke Russian fluently, the spy looked up, and his eyes widened in amazement and horror._

_David._

_David Kain was the spy they had captured. Alec knew there had been a raid on the facility earlier. That the walls had been penetrated by two spies. Where the other one was, Alec didn't know, he could only presume that the man had been shot in the chaos. Now the captured man was to be paraded in front of the men, his end to be here in the courtyard, a public execution._

_It was a matter of pride. This was no ordinary English spy. This was one of the elite. A 00. A Licence to Kill. 009. One of the best spies in England._

_And one of Alec's friends. _

_David Kain was a good man. A true man. Loyal to his country. A widower, loyal to the memory of his wife, Emma. Loyal to his daughter, Ashleigh. A man of principle and a man of honour. _

_David lifted his head slowly, pain etched across his features. His dark brown eyes were haunted, he had the look of a man who knew his final moments had arrived. And they were fixed upon Alec. _

_They widened in surprise, and his mouth fell open slightly. He spoke, hoarsely. 'You?'_

_Alec couldn't reply. He watched as David's eyes traced the length of Alec's body, coming to rest on the weapon still held in Alec's right hand. _

_There was no pleading in his eyes. He wouldn't beg for his life. David would die as he had done everything else in his life, with simple dignity and pride. An English spy was taught never to show fear, never to crack under torture, and never to admit defeat even in the face of Death. _

_David pressed his lips together firmly, jerking his head down once, a reluctant nod. Acceptance of his situation. He watched Alec warily, disbelief clear on his face, and also, to Alec's shame; disappointment._

_He knew. David knew Alec had defected. He knew that Alec's death had been an elaborate set up. David always had been able to think quickly. _

_Alec heard movement behind him, Merkalov stepped into view. His face was filled with impatience, and he made an equally impatient gesture with his hands. Get on with it. The message was clear. _

_The two men holding David forced him forward until he was kneeling in the snow. There was a ripple of talk from the crowd, as if they realised that this was more than just an execution, power was at play here in this courtyard. One of the guards tied David's hands behind his back, eliciting a hiss of pain from him. The men stepped back, it seemed the entire crowd had retreated._

_It was just Alec and David, once friends, still friends in Alec's eyes, and now he would have to kill him. His mouth was dry, he felt clumsy, sure that when he raised the pistol, his hands would be shaking._

'_I'm sorry,' the words sounded feeble to his ears._

_David stared at him, accusation clear in those dark eyes. 'So am I,' he said scornfully. _

_With careful steps, Alec moved behind David, raising the gun, pressing it against the back of the bowed head. He couldn't bear to look into David's face. _

_Blood on the snow. Blood seeping from the dark hair, trickling into endless whiteness. It crept towards him, diluting as it traced a path through the frost to pool around his feet…_

_He stepped back, but still it came, so much blood, too much surely, rising, covering the toes of his boots, higher, rising, he tried to escape but still it came…_

_He was going to drown in his friend's blood, it would taste sickly sweet in his throat, clogging up his airway, choking him…_

_He started to scream as it reached his knees_

Alec jerked awake, drenched in his own sweat. For a horrifying moment he thought it was blood, he slid a hand across his damp chest, checking, fearful that his hand would be stained red.

'Hey,' a voice said softly in the almost darkness, and he turned towards the figure sitting on the edge of the bed, wrapping his arms around her waist, grateful to her for being there. He wanted nothing more than to hold his wife, to feel her body against his, to undress her slowly, to forget the terrible dream as he slipped inside her, to take away the pain that he always felt.

David, her father, had died because of him. The one confession he could never make to her.

She was wearing something smooth and cool, satin beneath his hands, he traced them upwards, over her breasts, feeling the different texture of lace, following the line of thin straps, pushing one off her slim shoulder, kissing the skin there, trailing kisses downwards to the swell of her breast.

She stopped him, pulling his head upwards, his mouth to hers, and Alec contented himself with cupping her breast instead as she kissed him firmly. He felt peace wash over him, her presence soothing as ever, and somewhere in the back of his mind, as he always thought when he was with her, he was glad that she was in his life.

She was kissing him harder now, forcefully, leaning over him, and it hit him with a sudden truth.

She tasted different. The breast in his hand was too big, the flesh spilt over his fingers, and he struggled to contain it within his palm.

He reached for her shoulders, pushing her away, and in the darkness, he heard laughter, bitter laughter. He fumbled with the lamp, trying to push away the wandering female hands, and he knew before the switch was hit who it would be.

Jasmin Van Dien smiled darkly at him. She was dressed in cream satin, trimmed with black lace that barely covered her enviable body. Over the top, but not covering much was an open robe. Alec glared at her, slumping back on the pillows, aware that he was bare-chested and that his scars were clearly visible. Jasmin glanced at them, then away, a common enough gesture Alec had discovered from previous lovers. If they didn't look at them, they weren't there. Not Ashleigh. Ashleigh had traced every inch of them, accepting them as part of him, never shying away, never denying them.

'What do you want?' he asked bluntly.

'To see you,' she smiled again, but it didn't reach her green eyes. She was watching him in the same way as cat watched a mouse, toying with him.

'Really?' sarcasm was evident in his voice.

'I heard you moaning in your sleep. I was concerned.'

Alec snorted derisively. 'Of course you were. And you just happened to kiss me while you were at it.'

'You weren't complaining.'

'I thought you were my wife.'

'Of course you did.' She flicked her hair back with a gesture of supreme arrogance. 'So what were you dreaming about? What nightmares were you having?'

He raised an eyebrow. 'I dreamt I was in bed with you.'

'And that's a nightmare is it?' she narrowed her eyes.

'To me, yes. You turned into a black widow spider.'

'Is that the best you can do?'

'I can do so much better than you.'

For a moment he thought she was going to slap him, her hand actually lifted off her lap for the briefest second. 'Pierre wants to see you.'

'I'll see him in the morning.'

'Now.'

'I'll see him when I want to see him.' Alec rolled over, dragging the sheet up over his shoulders. He felt the bed roll slightly as Jasmin stood.

She turned as she reached the door, one hand on the handle. 'I thought she meant something to you.'

'Who?' Alec turned to look at her over his shoulder. She stood in the half light, her legs long and smooth looking, and Alec felt a jab of desire for the bitch.

'Your daughter. He'll kill her without a second thought, you do realise that don't you?'

'Of course I do.'

He thought she would say something else, but she didn't. She simply opened the door, stepped into the corridor and was gone.

Alec sighed, kicking the sheets away from his legs, moving into a sitting position on the edge of the bed. The memory of the dream was still upon him, and he leant forward, burying his head in his hands.

Later, after they had dragged away David's body, Merkalov had found Alec. He had been alone, a bottle of vodka and a chipped mug the testament to the despair he was feeling and how he was planning to block it out. He had refused to speak, refused to say anything to Merkalov, just stared at him in cold fury.

'For you,' Merkalov had said simply, and there had been the heavy clunk of metal on wood. Alec had leant forward, picking up the small gold object that had been tossed onto the table. A signet ring with a stylised wolf's head.

He was Le Loup's man. And he had vowed at that moment that he would never be under his control. He would rise up and destroy Pierre Merkalov.

The bear like hand had clamped down upon Alec's shoulder. 'You're the closest thing I have to a son,' Merkalov had said simply. 'There is still time for revenge, and I will help you in any way that I can.'

Alec had stared at the older man, and had felt pure hatred course through his veins.

It had taken less than a year to build up a group of men loyal to Alec rather than to Le Loup. Merkalov's brutality was well known, and some were only too willing to follow a new leader, a seemingly stronger leader. Alec promised them the world, and he had nearly delivered it to them. He had become Janus, and he had walked away from Pierre Merkalov, and had become so strong that Le Loup had never dared to threaten him.

Until now.

Merkalov had waited until the time was right to strike. He had given years for Alec to lull himself into a false sense of security, and then struck quickly and viciously.

He had Alec's daughter. And he also had the power to tear Alec's marriage apart. He carried Alec's deepest secret, the secret that he had promised himself that Ashleigh would never find out.

That he had been responsible for her father's death.

And so Alec obeyed Merkalov, he stood, dressing quickly, and he would go to him as ordered.

From the shadows in the corner of the room, he could feel David's eyes upon him, still watching, still accusing.

He would never escape them.


	39. Chapter Thirty Eight

James Bond leant his head against the cold glass of the window, looking down into the street below. It was a little after three in the morning and like many others that night, his sleep had been interrupted by worry.

Down the hall way, in his little used spare room, his goddaughter was asleep. She had barely said two words to him, just simply asked where she could sleep, and had promptly crashed out. James recognised that need, he knew that she was sleeping the sleep of someone who had been running for too long, constantly watching over their shoulder, unable to truly rest, and had finally arrived somewhere they considered safe.

A cat ran across the empty street below, and he watched as it disappeared down an alleyway. James knew he should sleep, but he was unnerved, and he didn't like that feeling. He needed to confront it. He needed to confront her.

He hesitated for only a moment outside her room, before slipping inside.

'Ashleigh?'

She was huddled under the covers, one hand tucked under her pillow, the other curled in a fist under her chin. Even in sleep, she frowned, unable to relax.

He sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the woman who had given him so much to think about. He felt faintly flattered that she had come to him in her time of need, but what she wanted him to do about it, he wasn't sure.

''Leigh?' he whispered again, this time stroking her hair gently.

She came awake instantly, hitting out at him, drawing her hand out from under the pillow, her gun pointing straight at him, her thumb already dragging at the safety, her eyes wild.

'Ashleigh!' he almost shouted, slapping her gun hand hard. The weapon clattered to the floor, thankfully, he'd caught her before she'd completely disengaged the safety. She followed the path of the gun with wide eyes, before staring at James unseeingly.

'Ashleigh,' James moved awkwardly towards her. 'It's me. James.'

'James?' her voice was small, almost childlike.

'Yes. It's me. You came to me, remember.'

'Of course I do,' she snapped, instantly aggressive. She was tearing at the bed clothes around her, almost kicking him in her need to get out of them. He helped her, jerking back the blankets until he freed her. She scrambled across the room, and James stared, struck once more by the universal truth that men's shirts looked far better on half naked women. The black material fell to just above her knees, as she moved, he caught a glimpse of smooth, lightly tanned thigh and he had to look away.

'Where is it?' she muttered, but more to herself than to James. She was pulling at drawers, opening them and slamming them shut when she didn't find what she wanted.

Finally, she sighed a sigh of relief as she spotted whatever it was she was hunting for in a tangle of clothes. Her hand closed around it, and it seemed to calm her. Turning, she smiled at him.

It made him nervous.

He shifted uncomfortably as she knelt on the bed next to him, the shirt once more riding up her thighs. He had no doubt who the original owner had been, the material looked expensive and it was exquisitely cut, meeting even James's fussy standards. The black material darkened her eyes in the half light until they glittered with hidden meaning, and he heard her breathing come quickly in the silence of the room. He closed his eyes.

'I found this,' Ashleigh was saying, and opening his eyes cautiously, James saw a flash of gold in the palm of her hand. He reached for it, and for a moment her fingers cradled protectively around the object, but reluctantly she let him take it.

A signet ring. James sighed. He recognised it. Even knew half the story behind it.

'I saw Alec,' she said softly. 'In Cuba.'

'And?'

'And?' she repeated dangerously. 'And what?'

'You lost him, didn't you?'

'I walked out on him,' she snarled defensively.

'I don't doubt it.'

'I found the ring in his belongings. It's Le Loup's symbol, isn't it? Le Loup gave it to him.'

'Yes. Pierre Merkalov did.

'What do you know about him, James?'

'Alec or Merkalov?'

'Merkalov of course.' Anger flashed in her eyes once more at his flippancy.

'I believe he has your daughter. He was last heard of being based in Africa, but I don't believe he is still there.'

'Why?'

'Because he would be a fool to stay in one place. Or he'll be somewhere well hidden. He used to be based in Siberia, perhaps he's there.'

'So I have to go to Siberia.' Ashleigh slumped back onto the bed, thinking how vast the region was.

'If you believe that's what you have to do, then yes.'

'I'll travel to the ends of the earth to get my daughter back, James. I won't be hiding away here at any rate.'

'Is that what you think I'm doing?'

'It's what I know you're doing!' The anger that had been building up inside her erupted suddenly. 'I'm sorry about Jasmin, I truly am, but for Christ's sake James, you barely knew her! She worked for MI6 and we're both aware what a risk that is. Jasmin knew that risk too, it's what's drilled into us from the moment we sign up. She's not the first of your lovers to die, and she certainly won't be the last!'

James stood abruptly, drawing his robe tighter around him. 'Why are you here, Ashleigh?'

She seemed to realise that she had crossed some unspoken line. Unrepentant, a stubborn look of defiance settled on her usually open features. 'M sent me.'

'I should have guessed.'

'It's not the only reason though. I was intrigued.'

'Intrigued?' James turned round to face her.

'Yes, intrigued. You see, when I was going through Alec's belongings, I didn't just find a ring. I found an address. One that I recognised. This address, in fact. I wondered why he'd have it, I thought perhaps he had it from before, but I remembered that you bought this house when I was fifteen, you invited me out here for my sixteenth birthday to learn how to ski. Alec 'died' the first time when I was twelve. So it couldn't possibly have been from before.'

James remained silent.

'How long have you been in contact with my husband for?'

'He contacted me after he left Sicily. Asked me to keep an eye on you.'

Ashleigh snorted. 'Did he indeed? Well you certainly failed in that duty.'

'What did you want me to do, Ashleigh? Hold your hand throughout? Talk you through each event, step by step? I can't help you with this one. Alec is working for Merkalov. While Merkalov has your daughter, Alec can not refuse to do anything. He has to obey his every order. Otherwise Natasha dies. So tell me what to do, and I'll do it. M has tied my hands here. I'm on leave. I can't do anything.'

'Bullshit, James. Absolute bullshit. When the hell have you ever listened to M? You've always done your own thing, even when they revoked your licence to kill. It didn't stop you then. And it won't stop you in the future. The only thing stopping you now is self pity. Pathetic, James. You're pathetic.'

'You're not thinking straight, Ashleigh. Whatever I think of Alec, I know one thing. He's trying to protect you. Don't you realise that Merkalov could order him to do anything?' The question was loaded and he saw the stubbornness cross Ashleigh's face, but he knew he was getting through to her. 'Absolutely anything.'

She recoiled as if he had slapped her face. For a moment she said nothing, and then she rose, walked to the door and opened it. He sat for a moment, admiring her slim figure out of habit, the curve of her calves into her ankles and her small, neat feet.

'I think you should go now, James,' she said quietly. 'I need to sleep.'

'We both do,' he answered. As he reached the door, he leant down and brushed his lips against her cheek.

'Goodnight, James.'

The door closed firmly behind him.

The next morning, James expected a tense atmosphere in the house, but was surprised to discover that Ashleigh was nowhere to be found. He wondered for a moment if she had decided to leave, but on checking her room, found all of her belongings were still there. He shrugged, deciding that he would leave her for the moment and start on breakfast instead. She would turn up when she felt like it, he knew that much at least.

The smell of fried bread and coffee filled the kitchen and James was just finishing his second cup when he heard the front door open and shut. He turned to the door just as Ashleigh walked in.

She looked much more settled than she had been in the early hours of the morning. She wore a long black overcoat over jeans, a cream scarf tucked up under her chin. Her eyes were bright, and she was carrying a small paper bag, embellished with the logo of a local patisserie.

'I had a craving,' she admitted with a shy smile, placing it upon the table, reaching for the scarf around her neck. 'I wanted something sweet and comforting.'

'Here,' James said, pushing a plate of fried bread towards her. She took one look at it and grinned.

'Marmalade?' she asked, already reaching for a knife.

'Disgusting public school habit,' James grimaced, handing her the jar of Frank Cooper's Oxford Cut marmalade. 'You were sent to get an education and instead you pick up strange eating habits instead.'

'Oh shush,' Ashleigh grinned, as she spread a thick layer over the greasy bread. 'Don't knock it until you've tried it.'

'One of the many mottos I live my life by,' James smiled too, relieved that the tension had been so easily diffused. 'However, I shall still refrain from that.'

Ashleigh closed her eyes in bliss as she savoured the familiar taste from her teenage years. 'You have no idea what you're missing,' she sighed happily, licking marmalade from her thumb.

'Sadly, I do. You've forced it upon me before.'

They ate in companionable silence, the only sounds in the room being the rustle of paper as they both read the morning newspapers.

James inwardly said a silent prayer. For now, so it seemed, there was to be peace.

They managed to coexist for most of the morning and the afternoon. Later, as the day drew to a close, James found Ashleigh sitting on a window sill in the living room, staring outside, a cup of tea in her hands. She didn't seem to be drinking it, rather drawing warmth from it instead.

In the half light, it took James a moment to notice the tears streaking her face.

He stood awkwardly in the doorway. She hadn't noticed him.

'Don't just stand there, James,' she said, not turning away from the window.

Apparently she had. He looked away as she brushed at her face with her sleeve.

'How long have you really been in contact with him for, James?' she asked, hollow eyed.

Was there any point in lying? He repeated what he said previously, reiterating the details. 'Since he left Sicily. I told you, he asked me to look after you'

'As I said earlier, great job you did there.' She leant her head back against the wall.

Anger flared in James, suddenly, violently. 'You were the one who left, Ashleigh. You forced me to help you. You were the one pointing a gun at me.'

'Oh please,' she muttered scornfully. 'It was hardly the first time you've been on the wrong end of a gun.'

'That's no excuse.'

'And you have no excuse for telling Alec what I was doing. No wonder he was always one step in front of me. I don't understand, James. Why? I thought you hated him?'

'It doesn't matter what my feelings towards your husband are, I wanted to protect you.'

'How? How were you protecting me?'

James felt frustration building up in him. He wanted to take her by the shoulders and shake her.

She turned away from him, angered by his silence. 'This is how it always is for me, James. No answers from anyone. No idea what to do next. Everyone is protecting me and no one is helping me.'

'The last thing anyone wants is for you to get hurt.'

'Like Jasmin did?'

'Like Jasmin did.'

There was a challenge in Ashleigh's eyes, and James met them. For a moment, he saw the same darkness in them that he had seen before, at her home in Sicily. She looked cold, and at that moment in time, she looked dangerous.

She blinked, and the look was gone. She sighed, and rested her head on her drawn up knees.

'How far would you go to protect me, James?' she asked, and James knew that it was a question he didn't want to answer.

He wondered if he even knew how to.

Minutes later James stared at his goddaughter in horror. It took a lot to shock him, but Ashleigh just had.

'No.' He stood, wanting to get as far away from her as possible.

They had been talking for what seemed liked hours. As Ashleigh had outlined what she wanted James to do, he had felt repulsion rising within him.

'James, please. You don't realise how much I need you to do this.'

'No, you're right. I don't. You're asking me to do something that I simply can't carry out.'

'James,' she stood, reaching for him, pleading. She pressed her hand against his face and he jerked away from her. 'James, please. You said you wanted to protect me, please, I'm asking you to.'

'I said no,' he caught her wrists and pushed her away from him.

'I can't do this myself!' she slumped onto a chair. 'If I could, I would, but …' she tailed off and buried her face in her hands.

'And if it goes wrong?'

'It won't. I promise.' She looked up at him with a fierce hope clear on her face.

'This is insane,' he shook his head.

'Perhaps.' She bit her lip. 'James, you're the only person I trust. The only person I can trust.'

'I have no choice, do I?' he said shakily.

'Is that a yes?' she moved closer to him, her hands on his arms, clutching at him, desperately, hopefully.

'Yes, I'll do it.' It was almost a whisper.

'Promise me one thing,' she said, her eyes dark once more.

'Haven't you asked enough of me?' he almost snapped.

'Don't miss, James. Whatever you do, don't miss. Promise me.'

'I promise,' the words were bitter on his tongue.

For a moment, she stared at him, her slim body almost touching his. She studied his face, as if trying to see how sincere he was. He reached for her, brushing her hair back from her face, wondering how it had come to this moment.

She leant forward, rising on her toes, and pressed her mouth to his, kissing him softly, sweetly, almost chastely. For just a moment, their lips touched and stayed together, and then she pulled away.

She smiled, but it seemed forced. 'Thank you,' she whispered.

James let out a shaky sigh as he thought about the enormity of the task that she had just set him. He should never have agreed to it.

But then, how could he have refused?

She paused at the door, one hand resting on the frame.

'We're all assassins now, James,' she said, and was gone.

* * *

A/N:

Ashleigh's marmalade on fried bread habit, is sadly, my own. However it is a very common breakfast in many English public schools (which, to confuse people, are private schools that you pay to attend… government funded schools are comprehensives). I wanted to add a light hearted scene before the end and this came to mind as soon as I wrote the word 'breakfast'.

As for Ashleigh's task for James, I will let you speculate on that matter. Needless to say, if I tell you now what it is, I will ruin the ending. And we don't want that, do we?


	40. Chapter Thirty Nine

I know, I know, another delay! Life is conspiring against me. Just as I swear off romance again (shall we not mention the Naval Officer?), I meet someone incredible - and more importantly very supportive of my writing. I've also been swamped with my midwifery training, and managed to squeeze in a surfing holiday. Alright, alright, no excuses, here we go. Chapter Thirty Nine

* * *

Pierre Merkalov had risen to the top of his game by being ruthless, brutal and Machiavellian. He had an innate understanding of people's weaknesses and he knew that for Jasmin Van Dien, it was the desire for power.

Not power as in strength, but something more subtle than that. He knew she wanted people to admire her, to fear her and to respect her. She was a simple soul, he thought, as he watched her prowl across the room.

Half heartedly, he wondered what it would be like to bed her. The thought had occurred to him before, but until now had never had fully realised in his mind. Cold, he imagined. She would be cold, and hard to satisfy.

Jasmin was like many women. She merely wanted what she could not have, and sulked when she didn't get it. She would use him, Merkalov knew that, and in sleeping with him, she would expect a reward for her favours.

There were names for women like Jasmin, but the true bearers of those titles were at least honest. They would earn their money simply and expect no more. Jasmin wanted the world, and, he rather suspected, like a modern day Salome; Alec Trevelyan's head on a platter.

Alec's indifference infuriated her, he knew that. Alec seemed resistant to her charms, and Merkalov admired that in his younger protégée. It seemed that Alec had learnt loyalty at long last.

It had been a foolish idea to follow Ashleigh Trevelyan in Paris, but Merkalov had been unable to resist seeing the woman who had taken Alec's name. He had been surprised, she was no great beauty as he had expected, instead she had been appealing. A woman who caught your attention on a second glance rather than the first. Her hair had been short and tousled, her eyes unnaturally blue. A warm smile, politely puzzled at the stranger's interest.

Yes, Merkalov had seen the attraction in her. Why Alec had chosen her. And how delicious the irony, when he had discovered her history, who her father was, and how suddenly the resemblance had been clear.

He may have only seen David Kain for a few hours, but he recognised the man in the daughter.

It all fitted together so neatly.

The fact that Ashleigh Trevelyan invoked Jasmin's animosity merely amused him. Female rivalries were of no interest to him, yet he enjoyed toying with Jasmin.

Women. They were so vital to Merkalov's plan. Jasmin was easy to manipulate with promises of fulfilling her desires, Ashleigh would be needed before the end. Natasha, nowhere near a woman yet, but so important, the lynch pin that held Alec's reluctant obedience.

There was one more woman who troubled Merkalov. She was too powerful, too much of a threat to him and his plans.

And she held Alec Trevelyan's balls in the palm of her hands.

He would destroy her. Absolutely, completely.

'You demanded to see me, and now you ignore me,' Alec snapped. Sitting bolt upright in a leather chair, he idly adjusted his cufflinks, resolutely insolent.

'You were always too hasty, Alec,' Merkalov turned to the younger man, ignoring the look of contempt. 'It is one of your faults. However, you will learn.'

'Spare me the lectures. I've managed to get this far in life with little or no help from you.'

'But I have helped you.' Merkalov laughed incredulously, as if it could ever be doubted. 'I have done nothing but help you.'

Alec remained silent, studiously staring at a point just over the older man's left shoulder.

'Jasmin,' Merkalov summoned the woman with an imperious finger, without even turning to look at her.

'What?' she snapped, looking up from where she had been tapping furiously at a computer keyboard. Alec suspected she was merely attempting to look busy in order to stay in the room.

'Leave.' The word was icy cold.

'Why?' she asked sullenly, taking a few steps towards the table where the two men were seated opposite each other, silently at loggerheads.

'Now!' Merkalov roared, half rising from his seat, one arm pulled back as if to strike, even though Jasmin was too far away for contact.

For a moment, she shrank away, flinching from his anger, but then she stood her ground.

'I organised this,' she protested. 'I should be here.'

'I don't pay you to have an opinion,' Merkalov snarled, and his cold blue eyes fixed upon her, calculating and hard.

Jasmin was not a stupid woman. A selfish woman, a greedy woman, but not stupid. The fine hairs on the back of her neck rose as she realised just how wolf like Merkalov had truly become, the shaggy greying pelt, the snarling countenance, and most chilling of all, those eyes.

Turning abruptly on her heel, she fled, her face burning with humiliation.

'You're too hard on your staff,' Alec said in mock chastisement.

'No harder than you,' Merkalov retorted. 'How many man have died in your name?'

'Not as many as have died working for Le Loup.'

'Tell me,' Merkalov asked, suddenly calm and charming once more. 'How does your wife cope with your past? Does she ever question you?'

'No.'

'There's no need to be so defensive, Alec. I'm merely interested.'

'Leave her out of this.'

'Still trying to protect her?'

'She can look after herself.'

'So I understand. The Huangs were most disappointed when the pair of you disappeared into the night.'

'Misguided thugs, nothing more.'

'Valuable allies. And I'm sure you understand how necessary allies are in these uncertain times.'

Alec leant forward, his hands flat on the table. 'Is that what I am? An ally?'

'Of course. Haven't you always been?'

'I was rather under the impression that I was here for no other reason than the fact that you have my daughter. I would hardly call that an allegiance.'

'You must understand that I had to take her.'

'Understand?' Alec's voice was dangerously low. 'My child's life is in danger, that is the only reason I can stand to be in the same room as you. Why I can bear to breathe the same air as you. The moment I get Natasha back -'

Merkalov grinned cruelly as he interrupted. 'That's why I called you here. To discuss the terms under which that can be achieved. But please, carry on if you wish.'

Shock flittered over Alec's face, but to his credit he composed himself quickly. 'How?'

'We'll come to that in a moment. Would you like to know how she is?'

Alec's eyes closed briefly as he wondered what new torture this was. 'Of course,' he finally managed to breathe.

'She's been ill,' Merkalov said triumphantly.

'Ill?' Under the table, Alec's hands tightened into fists. 'How ill?'

'Nothing too serious. Chickenpox. She's recovering well. Trying to get her not to scratch has been an experience,' Merkalov shook his head gently, playing the role of the concerned grandparent once more. 'Such an intelligent child, she gets bored so easily. She's certainly her father's child.'

'More like her mother,' Alec said automatically. Ashleigh suddenly seemed a very long way away, and for that, he was glad.

He hadn't been a good husband, and yet still she stayed with him. She had proved she could cope without him, and he suspected that fierce independence was one of the reasons why he could tolerate a relationship with her.

She could cope without him.

She may have to yet.

Natasha was like her mother, a version of Ashleigh that he could love unconditionally. Without doubt that she adored him too. Fatherhood had brought him a peace he had not expected and the moment he had realised Tasha was gone, nothing else had mattered in the world.

Not even Ash, shocked, injured and paralysed with fear for her daughter.

The important thing was Natasha.

'So bright, and amusing too. She loves to be read to,' Merkalov was still talking, pointedly turning the knife with every word. The older man watched Alec, saw the set, fixed look on his face and knew that he was struggling to contain himself. Merkalov's smile grew broader. 'She's certainly been a handful, but we're beginning to get along quite nicely now.'

'Are you indeed?' Alec answered automatically, blandly. 'How fascinating.'

'You could see her,' Merkalov said slowly, as if the idea had just occurred to him. 'It could be arranged so easily, so quickly.'

It was an immense struggle but somehow Alec managed to remain neutral. 'That would be pleasant,' he finally managed. His heart was pounding, his palms suddenly slick with sweat, but still he kept up the façade.

'It would be a favour, of course,' Merkalov said, spreading his arms wide as if to suggest that the matter was out of his hands and that he had no choice but to set condition.

'And you'd expect something in return, I suppose. Isn't that the way your 'favours' work?'

'Would you expect anything less from me?'

'I never underestimate my enemies. Others may make that mistake, but I certainly don't.'

'Enemy?' The genteel manner disappeared immediately, Merkalov's face turned brick red, and he moved with surprising speed for a man of his age. The next moment Alec found himself slammed against the nearest wall, his vacated chair sprawled sideways on the ground and Merkalov's furious expression just inches from his.

'Enemy?' Merkalov said again, this time colder and more controlled. 'You dare to call me your enemy?'

'What would you have me call you?' Alec said scornfully. 'Father?'

'You're no son of mine,' Merkalov growled.

'Thank god.' Alec spat back.

'I treated you as such though, I kept you alive when you were at your lowest. I dragged you back to health, gave you power, respect, men, and you betrayed me. You're nothing more than a Cossack bastard, a man who turned his back on Russia to fight for England and then screwed them over too. A cold blooded murderer, willing to destroy anyone who stands in your way. Even those you call your friends.'

Merkalov was panting hard, sweat glistened in the dark hair of his brows. 'I wanted you to take over from me. You could have led my men. Instead you steal half of them and set yourself up as Janus. All for what? Revenge? Or money? Your true motivation, even though you'll never admit it to yourself.'

'Don't forget power,' Alec smirked. 'Power is everything.'

'And right now, you have none,' Merkalov whispered. 'I have your daughter. I've seen your wife. I'll destroy you through them. One word, your daughter dies. A second, and your wife does too. I'll leave you alive though, and their screams will haunt you forever. I'll make sure of that.'

'Touch Natasha and I'll tear your throat out with my bare hands.'

'Only Natasha? What about your wife?'

Alec shrugged, as much as he could pinned to a wall.

'How cold, Alec,' Merkalov snarled. 'There are other ways to break someone than killing them. How would Ashleigh feel if she knew you killed her father? That you watched him die at your feet? Would she forgive you? Does she love you enough that she could forget that? Or does she have your taste for revenge?'

'You've taken her daughter, you'll find out before long.' Alec managed a bitter laugh.

Slowly, Alec was released, Merkalov stepping back enough to let Alec stand flat on the floor once more, rather than balancing precariously on the tips of his toes.

'You're going to do something for me,' Merkalov ordered.

'Haven't I done enough?' Alec's green eyes flashed with cold anger. 'Two men dead on your orders. Who is it this time? Why not get Jasmin to do it for you? She's desperate for your approval.'

'Because this time, you're going to prove your loyalty to me. And me alone.'

And at those words, Alec knew who his next hit would be. He closed his eyes in pain.

'Do this and you can see your daughter.'

Alec knew his fate was sealed. He had no choice.


	41. Chapter Forty

Alone in the bedroom, Ashleigh leant against the door, her breathing shallow and rapid. The dreadfulness of what she had just asked James to do filled her completely and revulsion caused her to bend double clutching her stomach in sudden pain. She slid to the floor, her hands pressed against her stomach, her skin burning hot and damp to touch.

'I'm sorry, I'm sorry,' she sobbed again and again. 'I don't want to, but I have to.'

She couldn't see any other way.

It was some time before Ashleigh managed to compose herself, feeling worn out by the sudden onslaught of emotion. With a shaking hand she wiped her damp face, feeling the faint stickiness of long dried tears and the way they made her skin feel overly taunt. She licked her lips and tasted salt there.

In the small en-suite shower room, she splashed water on her face, pressing her wet fingers to her eyes, hoping to reduce the puffiness there. Glancing up, she was surprised to see that she didn't look that bad, a little red eyed and swollen lipped, but overall she seemed almost normal.

In looks perhaps.

Ashleigh knew that her moral code had altered since meeting Alec. She realised that while Alec kept up a respectable front, and that he had plenty of legitimate businesses that occupied him, there was an undercurrent of something that Ashleigh hadn't dared to explore too closely. M kept him busy too and Ashleigh knew that where M was concerned, Alec was dangerous. He might decide to assist his former boss, or to hinder her, or sometimes, both at the same time.

How had it come to this? She stared at her reflection, wondering where the Ashleigh before Alec had gone to. Her life had been so different. So honest.

Now she was contemplating a mortal sin.

Ashleigh wasn't religious, but the thought disturbed her all the same.

'Alec,' she whispered.

She loved him. She had wanted him from the moment she had seen him, but falling in love had taken longer. When she finally had, it had been totally and utterly. She had never truly known him though and that was the thought that occupied her mind now.

There was so much she needed to say to him.

So much she wouldn't say.

Her reflection stared accusingly back at her, and she looked into her own dark eyes.

'I'm sorry,' she whispered once more. 'Alec, I'm sorry.'

'You made it then?' M's authoritarian tone was diluted slightly by the tinny tone of the speakers in Ashleigh's laptop. 'Did you have a pleasant journey?'

'I'm bruised in places I didn't know could bruise,' Ashleigh complained lightly.

'You asked me to get you out of Cuba discreetly. I did warn you that it would be uncomfortable.'

'And hot, and sticky. And 'uncomfortable' doesn't even come close to describing exactly how it was.'

'You made it though,' M gave a small smile, only just visible on the screen. 'How is James?'

'You were right to be concerned, sir' Ashleigh tapped a pen on the edge of the desk. 'I'm under the impression that he isn't coping with Van Dien's death at all.'

M nodded and Ashleigh marvelled at the change in their relationship. Over the last six years they had become close, perhaps not anything ever close to friends, but Ashleigh knew that M valued and trusted her opinion. Contrasted to six years ago when M had been able to quell any protest from the young agent with a single glance and a pointedly raised eyebrow, it was a major advance towards something almost like friendship. Now Ashleigh was M's main point of contact in Sicily and Naples. She worked hard for MI6 and in return she had earned respect and several long term contracts.

'How serious do you think this grief is?' M's tone was slightly scornful, as if she thought that there was something dirty about such an emotion.

'He's shaken, definitely shaken. He's also very reluctant to get involved with anything. I suspect he's closing in on himself in some form of self preservation.'

'If we were talking about anyone other than James Bond, I might believe that, Ashleigh.'

'You don't believe that he's mourning, sir?'

'Perhaps. I think that it might be more than that.'

'I take it that I'm not going to get any more of an explanation than that, sir?'

'Absolutely not.' Even over a satellite link, M's tone was unmistakable. Ask her no questions and she would tell you no lies.

'You said that you would have further orders for me when I arrived here,' Ashleigh attempted.

M's cold blue eyes stared at her through the laptop screen. Ashleigh suddenly felt like that young agent once more.

'You're not my agent to order, Ashleigh. Particularly in this situation.'

'Sir?' Ashleigh frowned, confused. She tapped the pen faster.

'A car will arrive for you and James tomorrow. You will be transported to a location, where you will receive your orders.'

'Yes sir,' Ashleigh leant forward eagerly.

'Ashleigh. You're not my agent. Not officially. What I am asking you to do, it is a request. You have every right to say no. However, I would appreciate it if you would accompany James. I have a need of those that I trust right now.'

'Of course, sir. Should I tell James?'

'I will contact James directly.' M said abruptly, cutting Ashleigh off halfway through her sentence. Ashleigh bit her tongue, knowing not to argue.

'Yes, sir.' She may not officially be M's agent, but she was obedient all the same.

'You're putting yourself at risk,' Charles shook his head as M closed down the link between her and Ashleigh.

'That is my business, Charles.'

'And mine,' Charles snapped back. 'I shall be the one who has to fill out the paper work to bring back your body. Not to mention all the extra hours trying to explain to the Prime Minister exactly how you got killed, shortly followed by having to find someone to replace you.'

'Your concern is touching.'

'And you are being flippant!' Charles struggled to control his temper.

'I'll let you get away with that little outburst because we are alone. However, you will do well to remember I have the power to transfer you.'

'Your threats may work well on Bond, but not on me. I'm still waiting for my proposed transfer to outer Mongolia.'

'Don't tempt me, Charles. I'm in no mood for this.'

'Of course you're not. You've just discovered there are people out there planning to kill you!'

'It's not that that worries me.'

'It worries me…'

'Yes, Charles,' M held a hand up to silence him. 'The paperwork. You've said.'

Charles took the hint, and remained silent. He tapped his fingers on the desk, staring around M's office.

'Please stop mentally redecorating. I'm not dead yet, and therefore the job isn't yours yet.'

Charles laughed, despite himself.

'This is no whim of mine, Charles. This isn't macho bravery. This is a necessity.'

'Putting your life on the line?'

'I ask my agents to do that every single day. I should be seen to do the same.'

'No, you shouldn't. That's the whole point of being head of MI6. You don't buy a dog and bark yourself, sir.'

'Charming analogy, thank you.'

'You remember Istanbul? You were lucky Elektra King had a sadistic streak.'

M suppressed a shudder, remembering the incident. The oil heiress, Elektra King had murdered her own father, one of M's oldest friends, to gain control of his companies and as revenge. Elektra had been kidnapped as a young woman, held to ransom, and M had advised King against paying the ransom. They had cut off part of Elektra's ear, but worse than that, the young woman had fallen for one of her kidnappers. Together, she and Reynard had concocted a plot that had led to King's death, stolen plutonium, and M trapped in a dusty tower in Istanbul. Charles was right. Elektra had wanted M to suffer as she had. To understand what it was like to wait, to watch time ticking away knowing that no one was going to help you.

M had managed to escape, activating a tracking device with a battery taken from a clock and some small adjustments.

When would these people learn that in order to win, you had to shoot without hesitation? There was no time for deliberation, no time for gloating, and certainly no time for explaining master plans.

Shoot quickly, or not at all. Otherwise, agents, and heads of MI6 tended to escape.

Seeing M's small smile, Charles groaned. 'You were lucky that time. What makes you think you will be this time?'

'I'll be well protected, Charles.'

'I presume you've called in the military.'

'Of course, the head of the Navy owes me a favour,' M opened a file. 'Charles, before you continue asking questions, I have made my decision. I had planned to do this before our most recent communication and I shall continue to do so despite the threat.'

'If you insist, sir.'

M glanced up, her glasses perched on the end of her nose. 'Would it make you feel better if you knew this event could bring us closer to the kidnappers of Natasha Trevelyan?'

'No, it makes me feel worse,' Charles snapped. 'You're risking your life for a child.'

'I'm going to ask you to put aside your differences against the Trevelyans and to consider what you just said.'

Charles flushed. 'Children have been kidnapped all over the world. Sometimes they are recovered and sometimes they are not. Sometimes the parents are not to blame…'

'And sometimes they are.' M sighed, and rubbed the bridge of her nose. 'I have no doubt that it is the actions of Natasha's parents that led to her kidnap, but I promised them both that I would do my best to retrieve her. I cannot risk the animosity of either of them. They are both too useful to me. You can't deny that, Charles.'

Charles scowled this time, knowing what M said was true, even if he didn't want to admit it.

'It took me several years to coax Alec Trevelyan into working for us once more. It has been a highly successful relationship and I do not want to jeopardise that.'

'And Ashleigh?'

'Ashleigh will do what is best for her daughter. Never underestimate a mother.'

'And if she fails? If the child…' Even Charles couldn't complete the sentence.

'We had better hope that that doesn't happen.'

'You're manipulating people again, aren't you?'

'You learn quickly, Charles.'

'And how are you planning to manipulate Ashleigh?' Charles felt a twinge of regret for the young woman. His feelings may have changed towards her over the years, but he still remembered the enthusiastic young agent who he had worked with.

'I gave her what she wanted, and it hasn't worked out. I'm going to offer her an escape route.'

Charles raised an eyebrow.

'I'm going to make her an active agent again.'

'You truly think that is what she wants?'

'She's bored, Charles. Ashleigh isn't content sitting at home playing happy families. She's insisted on more and more work over the last few years. She's useful and has a range of excellent contacts. Alec has insisted on hiding her away, suffocating her slowly and surely.'

'Do you truly believe that?'

'It's an age old tale, Charles. A man falls for a woman for her independence, her intelligence and her looks, and then spends the rest of their lives trying to stop anyone else spotting those very qualities.'

'Speaking from experience, sir?'

'Hardly. Robert is extremely supportive. And that's all I'm saying on the matter.'

'I imagine he is too frightened to argue, sir. After all, his wife has some of the most lethal assassins in the world at her beck and call.'

'Charles?'

'Yes, sir?'

'Shut up and do some work.'

'James?' Ashleigh found James in his study, his shirt sleeves pushed up to his elbows, and a glass of vodka in his hand. She glanced at the laptop glowing in the corner and made an educated guess. 'Have you heard?'

'Tomorrow morning,' James said, as with a flick of his wrist he threw the dregs of his glass down his throat and reached for the bottle.

'I would say go steady on that,' Ashleigh gestured towards the vodka. 'But since it's you, well, I won't.'

'What are you trying to imply, Ashleigh?' he glared at her.

'Nothing,' she stammered. 'I didn't mean anything by it and for Christ's sake James, you know it.'

James slumped into an armchair in the corner of the room, and Ashleigh cautiously perched on the arm next to him. She ran a hand over his dark hair, and he leant into her until she put her arm around him.

'M knows more than what she is saying,' James said quietly.

'Doesn't she always?' Ashleigh mumbled into his hair.

'Do you ever think when this is going to end?'

'When Natasha is found, it ends.'

'I wish it was that simple for me.'

'James?' Ashleigh felt a flicker of fear.

'It never ends.'

'Of course it does. It has to, somewhere.'

'For a while perhaps. And then it starts again. Another mission. Another enemy. Another death.'

'Jasmin?'

'Jasmin. Elektra. Miranda. There are so many names.' James brought the glass in his hands up to eye level and stared at it. 'Tracy.'

Ashleigh brushed her lips against the top of James's head.

'I hope you understand what you've asked me to do,' James looked at her with shadowed eyes.

'I wouldn't have asked if I didn't.'

'I'm glad you understand. Because I certainly don't.'

'You don't have to,' Ashleigh murmured. 'You know I have my reasons.'

'I hope they're good enough.'

'Please don't ask me to justify them. I'm not sure I can,' she whispered.

He held out his glass to her and she took a modest sip, savouring the cold liquid. He took it back, and ran a hand over her hair, pulling her head down so he could kiss her cheek.

'Get some sleep,' he said into her hair. 'And that's an order.'


	42. Chapter Forty One

Exams and essays are nearly over. I cannot wait to get back to writing this story. I'm still ahead and starting to plan the climax of this tale. I hope you all stick with it.

* * *

Scars. They haunted Ashleigh's life.

Alec's scars were a part of him, defining him. She would lightly trace them with her fingers, marvelling at the stark contrast between them and the smooth, perfect skin on the other side of his chest. They were him, she had never really known him without them. Alec without scars would not be her husband.

She had her own scars. The vertical white slash mark that bisected her upper arm. Lucinda Elliot had stabbed her, tried to kill her, the knife a burning hot blade under her skin. Her blood had been hot, and thicker than she had thought possible.

She traced it lightly, running her hand down her bare arm.

Other scars had happier memories. Her stomach bore witness to her motherhood, the faint silver lines had almost faded but would never be gone. She had adored being pregnant with Natasha, watching her stomach swell with life. Her stomach was gently curved, and she pressed her hand to it, thinking of her child.

Natasha. She knew she was getting closer to her. That out there, her daughter was waiting for her to retrieve her, to hold her, to bring her home.

She hoped she would have the opportunity to do just that. However, the nervous feeling that was a dull ache deep in her abdomen refused to go away.

She reached for the crisp white shirt that was thrown over the back of the chair, glancing once more at the scar on her arm as she slipped into the sleeves. Her hands were steady as she buttoned it up. Her suit jacket was tailored and expensive, habits she had certainly picked up from Alec.

In the mirror, Ashleigh Kain, the Ashleigh who she had once been, stared back at her, the consummate professional, the agent ready to take on the mission. She gave a small smile. Finally, it felt like something was happening. Something she could take control of.

The gun in her hand was a comforting weight, cold and smooth, and hers. An old friend. She slipped on her holster, and with almost a caress, she slid the weapon into it.

For a moment, she saw a look in her own eyes that she didn't like.

She turned away before she could see it again. It scared her.

The car arrived on time, non descript, black, leather interior driven by a nameless, faceless driver. Ashleigh and James swept down the stairs of James's house, throwing bags into the boot of the car, and sliding effortlessly into the back.

'You get used to it,' James murmured to her, leaning across the seat.

'Leaving in the middle of the night for unknown locations?'

'That and pandering to M's every whim.'

'There's more than that at stake, James,' Ashleigh stared out of the window.

'As everyone keeps reminding me.'

'Be grateful you can forget.'

Her tone was cold, tinged with bitterness, and James turned to her, suddenly grabbing at her, pulling her around to face him, his hand on her jaw, yanking her face around to him.

'I shall do my duty,' he snarled at her, his face millimetres from hers, and menacing. Anger flared up in her eyes, he felt the muscles in her face tense and he pressed harder, his fingertips digging into her skin hard enough to leave marks. 'As I always have done and always will do. You've secured a promise from me that I didn't want to make, but my duty comes first.'

She was in pain, he could tell, but she refused to show it and he admired that in her.

'You don't have to tell me,' she hissed. 'I know about your 'duty', I know all about it. I've seen how it rules you, how it rules Alec still, after all these years. I've been an agent too. I've sworn my fealty to my Queen and Country but right now my daughter's life is worth more to me. I'll do whatever it takes to get her back. If you think I'm here for any other reason other than that then you sorely mistaken.'

'He's changed you,' James said slowly, releasing her from his grip. 'You're not the woman I knew. The Ashleigh I knew would never contemplate what you're planning.'

'I've changed?' Ashleigh tilted her head, an incredulous smile on her lips for a moment. 'Are you sure about that, James? Maybe this is the real me. Maybe you've just never seen it before. Maybe you haven't wanted to see it.'

James shook his head. 'No. This isn't you. He's made you this way.'

'Perhaps I'm not the one who has changed,' she said again quietly, dangerously. Her tone was a challenge, and the look in her eyes was dark and accusing. 'You're not the James I knew. Perhaps, finally, we're all showing our true colours.'

'And what if I don't like this version of you, this 'real' Ashleigh?'

'Then be grateful you don't have to live with her.'

He shook his head slowly. 'I never thought I'd say this, but you deserve each other.'

'You've finally realised,' she seemed determined to get the last word, and contented that she had, she turned away from him, and James, in his fury, refused to reach out to her.

Instead, he remembered conversations with a man he had sworn to kill, a man he hated. A man who had become, ironically, an ally once more, in this twisted upside down world where you held your enemies closer than your friends, even your family.

'_James?' the voice had been confident, but at the same time, almost tentative. He had rarely heard it like that, and it spiked fear into his stomach. _

'_How did you get this number?' he finally managed to get the words out through almost numb lips. _

'_A gentleman never reveals his sources…' Alec had started the old joke._

'_But we're no gentlemen,' James finished it. _

_An uncomfortable silence. James had glanced over at Jasmin, naked in the bed next to him in the Parisian hotel suite and wondered how and why Alec had bothered to track down their location. He also wondered how asleep Jasmin was, and carefully, had extricated himself from the sheets and slipped into the lounge area of the suite, shutting the door behind him. Better to be safe than sorry._

'_Why are you calling?' the question held more than just a simple enquiry. So much said in four words. _

'_Why do you think?' even across the crackling line, Alec's tension was clear. 'My wife…'_

'_Don't call her that!' James had snapped, the beginning of a tension headache snapping around his temples. 'I'm not ready to hear you … say… that, yet.'_

'_Ash, then, or would you prefer Ashleigh?' Alec was bitter. _

'_Don't fuck about,' James snapped again. 'You're calling about Ashleigh, so why don't you just say it?'_

'_I have no right to ask any favour of you. But I'm asking you as Ashleigh's friend, as her godfather, as someone who supposedly cares about her. Look after her. Please?'_

_It was the 'please' that shocked James more than the request. There was real fear in Alec's voice, concern for the woman who had drawn them back together. _

'_Don't you think it's a little too late to be so worried about her safety? You didn't seem so concerned when you left her alone in the house to be attacked.'_

'_James, I'm warning you…'_

'_You have no right to warn me about anything! Least of all about Ashleigh! Did you see how terrified she was? Did you see the cut on her head? The bruises? Or were you already planning your escape?'_

'_Of course I saw,' James knew that if he could see Alec now there would be a muscle twitching in the man's jaw, his classic 'tell' that he was struggling to control his temper. 'I was the one taking care of her, not jumping down her throat every time she dared to look at her own husband.'_

'_Taking care of her? By placing her in danger in the first place?'_

_The conversation was going around in circles, the tension building between the two men with every accusation, every bitter word. _

_Finally, unable to bear it a moment longer, furious at the intrusion into his life, Bond slammed the phone down._

_Only to pick it up again two minutes later. _

_It was answered on the first ring._

'_You know I will,' he said stiffly, awkwardly. 'She… she's my goddaughter,' he said, as if this explained everything._

_There was an audible exhale of breath from the other end of the line, in relief, James thought. _

'_I know,' Alec said shakily, gratitude clear in his voice. 'And don't forget it.'_

_James gave a brief bark of laughter. 'She won't let me.'_

In the half light, James shot a sly look at the woman who had brought so much trouble into his life. Not for the first time he wished she had never been born, wished that David and Emma had not been so stupid as to entrust their daughter's life to him.

She felt his eyes on her, he could see that by the way she fussed with the cuffs of her shirt, smoothed her hair from her eyes, from the way she stared out of the window refusing to turn and look his way despite not being able to see anything outside.

_The phone was ringing. Interrupting his despair. Interrupting his desire to down an entire bottle of vodka and fall into merciful unconsciousness. Now the insistent ring pierced through his head, through the pain until he answered it, almost howling into it._

'_What?' at the last moment he managed to control himself, snapping out the one word with as much viciousness as he could imbue. _

'_You've heard,' the flat, toneless voice was the last thing that James wanted to hear, and yet strangely comforting at the same time. If anyone would understand… perhaps he would._

'_Yeah.'_

'_I'm sorry,' there was pity in Alec's voice. _

'_Really?' the edge of the vodka bottle clinked loudly against the edge of the glass. _

'_Yes.' A pause. 'Are you drinking?'_

'_Yes.'_

'_Good,' Alec was brusque. 'Make it a large one.'_

'_I wasn't planning on stopping at one.'_

'_One glass or one bottle?'_

'_Bottle.'_

'_Drink as much as you want, James, you won't hear any criticism from me.'_

'_Then why are you calling?'_

'_Jasmin.'_

'_Offering your condolences?'_

'_In a way, yes.'_

'_Jesus Christ, this is twisted,' James stared at the contents of his glass as if the clear liquid could provide him with answers. 'She was different, you know?'_

_In another country, Alec closed his eyes, and wondered how the hell he was going to find the words to explain, to make James understand. _

'_What have you heard?' _

_James swallowed, the icy liquor burning his throat. 'A harpoon. A fucking harpoon.'_

'_It's… it's not what you think,' it sounded trite but it would have to do. _

'_She's dead, Alec. What the hell else am I to think?'_

'_Am I dead?'_

_The words were said softly, so softly that James almost wondered if he had misheard. _

_Suddenly James hadn't felt drunk. He hadn't felt empty. There had been a sudden rage building in him, brilliant red, rising through him until it clouded his eyes and threatened to overwhelm him. _

'_James?' _

'_I'm here,' struggling to breathe, James had fought the words out. _

'_I wish I was wrong. She's a double agent. She's the double agent. She's the one who organised everything.'_

_Calmer now, the rage changing to simmering fury, James took another sip, his hand steady, his manner composed. 'I should have guessed.'_

'_None of us knew, James.'_

'_Except you.'_

'_Not until it was too late. I thought she simply worked for Le Loup. I had no idea she was MI6.'_

'_Is it just me or has everyone been faking their own death recently? Perhaps I should give it a go,' James had attempted flippancy. _

'_There's an art to it,' Alec had sounded weary at this point, strained. 'Do let me know if you need any advice on the subject.'_

'_Jasmin?' James had closed his eyes as the pain had washed over him, as a thousand hopes had crumbled in front of him, mocking him with their easy destruction. _

'_Jamsin,' Alec had confirmed._

The early morning chill bit into Ashleigh and James as they stepped from the official car at a local airfield. Their luggage was retrieved from the boot quickly and efficiently by armed soldiers, they were greeted by another.

'Sir, madam, your flight will be leaving shortly,' the young officer jerked his head towards a small passenger jet with absolutely no markings on its dark body.

Ashleigh took a deep breath as she tried to calm herself. In the faint light of dawn she could make out mountains all around them, could feel the thinness of the air as she tried to fill her lungs. They were hidden from all prying eyes, and preparing to fly into the unknown.

She wanted to scream, to throw herself back into the car and to refuse to carry on with this fool's mission a moment longer.

And then she thought of her daughter and knew she had no choice.

Ignoring the young officer, ignoring the curious looks of the men around her, and in particular, ignoring James, she walked to the plane, and up the steps.

Only if you had watched her closely would you have noticed her pause, and shiver, before ducking inside the fuselage.


	43. Chapter Forty Two

After the joys of exams and essays I am finally about to enter my third year of training. I've been writing this story for significantly longer than I have been training. This cannot be a good thing.

What is a good thing is that in the last week I have managed to get my mandatory three chapters ahead of posting. Events are happening and it is the beginning of the end. Enjoy the latest offering.

* * *

'Sir?'

There was a faint flicker of annoyance on M's face as Charles interrupted her. Glancing up, she found her Chief of Staff looking murderous and instinctively turned towards whatever or whoever had provoked such a reaction from the usually placid man.

Standing in the door way to the command centre, flanked by armed guards, were James and Ashleigh. The pair of them simply exuded arrogance and the superiority of senior agents. In James's case, it was justified. In Ashleigh's? M sighed as she recognised the jaw tilt, the flash of defiance in the eyes. This was going to be difficult, she decided, noting the discreet but pointed stares of half the people in the room.

'007?' M gestured with a regal hand, 'Kain. This way please.'

Most of the agents in the room recognised James. It was hard not to, and so they gave up on being discreet completely and stared openly at the infamous 007. Ashleigh, on the other hand, drew curious glances and half recalled memories.

Irrationally Ashleigh was irritated. She had been a good agent, not particularly well known, or famous for any reason, nor had she been very close to anyone in the agency but she had been known. Had she really been away for that long? Watching the blank, curious, unfamiliar faces, she was forced to admit that perhaps she had. Humiliation brought colour to her cheeks, and for a moment she wanted to turn away, but instead she pushed herself forward, past the looks and the whispers.

You should remember me, she thought angrily. She wasn't a bad agent. Or rather, she hadn't been a bad agent. She had been described as a rising star on more than one occasion. She had been on the fast track for promotion. She had been respected. She had been one to beat.

Now she was nothing more than a half remembered face and a brief distraction from the tasks at hand.

It was embarrassing, and she found herself relieved to be in the sparse surroundings of M's makeshift office.

The formality could be dropped slightly now, and M looked fractionally more welcoming than she had to begin with. In fact, Ashleigh thought critically, M looked strained. Stressed almost. It could have been down to the location, compared to M's luxurious office at MI6 headquarters, this room left a lot to be desired. Small, cold, metallic, dominated by a vast desk almost too big for the room, it offered little comfort. The lack of windows, and therefore natural light, only heightened the starkness.

'Sit,' M gestured imperiously at two uncomfortable looking chairs. Torture techniques, Ashleigh thought, suppressing a hard smile. Put your victim in as much discomfort as possible, distracting them in the hopes that they'll slip up.

'Nice bunker,' James cast his eye around the room. 'Did you burrow it out yourself?'

'My predecessor's actually. It was his base for skiing,' M refused to be goaded.

'Hoping to hit the slopes yourself, sir?' James said pleasantly enough, but both women glanced at him suspiciously. There was an air of recklessness about James, his blue eyes glittered with an almost dangerous gleam.

'I have more pressing concerns than the quality of the powder, 007,' there was a distinct warning in M's voice.

The glare that M gave Bond would have turned the powdered snow into glittering ice crystals. Ashleigh stiffened in her seat, wishing she had the courage to extend a hand and restrain James, to warn him that this wasn't the time, that they needed M on side if matters where to go the way that they had planned. Her arm twitched at the subconscious desire and immediately, M's gaze turned back to her.

'You said you needed us, sir,' Ashleigh said softly, offering confidences. To her horror, M almost slumped in front of her.

'Yes,' the older woman said stiffly, and there was a trace of panic in that tone. She refused to look at her agents, choosing instead to stare fixedly at a particularly ugly landscape picture, hastily thrown on the wall to brighten the place up.

Finally, after several moments, M found the words. James waited, eyes still manic, watching his boss almost fall to pieces in front of him, while Ashleigh felt the smile slowly slip from her face as the silence grew.

'I'm rather afraid that I'm going to be killed,' M said with false brightness.

The coffee was vile, and Ashleigh gave the contents of the chipped mug a wary look before she risked another sip. Standing alone in a small makeshift kitchen, the jar of instant coffee on the counter before her and the battered kettle still steaming gently, she relished the brief moment's peace.

It was freezing cold in the bunker, and M had dismissed Ashleigh when she had seen the younger woman's shivering progressing from a mild shake to full on teeth chattering teamed with lightly blue lips. M, who rarely felt the cold, had taken pity and wanting to get James alone, had dismissed her with curt directions to the kitchen. Curt perhaps because she knew exactly what was on offer there, Ashleigh thought darkly.

'You're back then?' a snarling voice cut through her thoughts.

'Shit!' Caught completely off guard, Ashleigh jumped, sloshing coffee over herself.

Angrily, she grabbed a cloth, dabbing at the damp patches on her suit. 'Yes, I'm back,' she muttered defiantly.

'Angling for promotion?' Charles bitched. It was unlike him, and Ashleigh stared at him, trying to figure out what had happened to the Charles she had once thought she had loved.

'Hardly,' she turned, picking up the kettle and filling it up. Switching it on, she turned, gesturing with a mug. 'Coffee?'

'That stuff?' Charles said disgustedly, and then sighed, obviously aware it was the only thing on offer. 'Milk. Half a sugar.'

'I remember,' Ashleigh said tartly. 'Never did manage to kick the sugar habit, did you?'

'This from the woman who used to have to have three sugars in her latte before she could manage a sip.'

'I finally developed a taste for it,' she shrugged, spooning the coffee into the mug. 'Though for better stuff than this. What's happened to MI6's catering budget?'

'We're up in the Alps,' Charles waved vaguely in the direction of outdoors. 'The majority of the food is either preserved or dry freezed. Including the coffee.'

'I thought M would have demanded better?'

'M's mind is focused elsewhere,' Charles said confidingly.

'Mmm,' she was non-committal but Ashleigh knew what he meant.

'She wants to make you a full agent again,' Charles said quietly.

The clang of the teaspoon against the mug was the only sign of Ashleigh's shock. 'Really?'

'Against my better judgement.'

'It's M's decision,' Ashleigh defended angrily.

'And as her Chief of Staff, I am there to offer her advice and my opinion on her decisions.'

'Is it also in your role to block the decisions you deem to be wrong?'

'Yes.'

'So why are you telling me this?' Ashleigh practically threw the mug of coffee at him.

'I'm forewarning you.'

'Of your intent to block the decision?'

'No. As I said, I can only offer advice and opinions. M has the ultimate choice and I know she plans to reinstate you, even if I try to block it. So there's no point in objecting.'

Ashleigh's mind reeled. Full agent? For a moment she was terrified, and then a smile slowly slid over her face. ¢Good,' she said shortly, and not without some satisfaction.

'You're going to accept it?' Charles leant awkwardly on his crutches, shuffling his mug from hand to counter.

'I need all the protection I can get right now,' Ashleigh sipped thoughtfully. 'MI6 might be my best bet.'

'Protection?' Charles shrugged. 'You might get it. Or M might decide to throw you to the lions.'

'Lions I can handle.' The coffee really was disgusting. 'How is the leg?'

'Bloody painful. If I ever get my hands on your husband…'

Ashleigh frowned. Charles caught sight of the look and paused. 'Isn't that what you want?' he asked. 'To find him?'

The frown deepened and for a moment Charles thought she was going to throw the coffee in his face.

'It was never about finding Alec,' she said sadly. 'I wanted to find him because I thought he knew where Natasha was. He wouldn't tell me. So now I have to look for her alone. It's all about Tash, Charles. It's all about my daughter.'

'And Alec?'

'If I have to spend the rest of my life running from him, I will. As long as I have my daughter.'

'I can't promise anything, but if I can help you in anyway, I will,' Charles sighed heavily.

Ashleigh lifted an eyebrow. 'You've forgotten already, haven't you?'

'Forgotten what?'

'That you told me M was going to offer me full agent status while we were in Paris. I never took you as a liar, Charles. Tell me I'm wrong.'

Charles flushed. 'I thought perhaps… I thought she might. I was merely…'

'Jumping the gun? Or setting the bait?'

'It was the only way I could get you to do what I asked.' Charles said stonily, his features set into a look of defiance.

'Did you ever think of asking me outright? Or telling me the truth?'

'Would it have done any good?'

'Honesty always is the best policy. Or has MI6 forgotten that? I know I've been away for quite a while, but really, don't tell me the rot has set in that quickly?'

'Honesty has never been the best policy where MI6 is concerned, and never will be. I think you're looking on your past with rose tinted glasses, Ashleigh.'

'I might need to borrow them for my future,' she replied flippantly, staring hollowly into her empty coffee cup. 'So am I an agent or not?'

'Technically?' Charles managed a small smile. 'Yes. What I offered you in Paris was true. What M wants to offer is something more like an incentive…'

'For her or for me?'

'For you. M wants you back in England.'

Ashleigh stared at Charles wide eyed. 'England?'

Her head was spinning. England. Her green and pleasant land. The thought of London called to her and beckoned her home. She could return home. She would be…

'Protection,' she blurted out suddenly. 'I'll need protection.'

'We're back to that, are we? We'll do what we can but…'

'But against Alec Trevelyan, you're somewhat helpless,' Ashleigh's eyes flashed with anger. 'I can't risk losing my daughter, Charles.'

'And we can't let a known traitor to the crown swan in to the UK without our knowledge. We'll do our best, Ashleigh. For you and Natasha.'

'Thank you,' she said softly.

'For making you into what you already are?'

'No,' Ashleigh turned, rinsing the cup under the tap. 'For not stating the obvious. For pretending to believe that I'll get Tash back.'

There was a sadness in Charles dark eyes that he didn't dare voice. He looked away before Ashleigh turned and saw it.

'M wants you back in the office,' he said quickly. 'It won't be long now.'


	44. Chapter Forty Three

-1'Just a little further, you can do it… Reach! Reach, damn it!'

Ashleigh stretched as far as she could, the glass feeling slippery and lethal beneath her feet. Unceremoniously she felt a strong pair of hands push upwards, using her posterior as leverage. For a moment she grinned, then she was hoisted up to the next grip.

'Charming,' she turned her head downwards, the wind whipping strands of hair into her eyes.

'No time for manners I'm afraid today. We thought you spooks were supposed to be fit,' the man answered back from his precarious perch just below her.

'And I thought the Army only recruited strong, silent types,' she threw back, the words almost torn from her mouth by the strong gusts that buffeted her at this certain altitude.

She distinctly heard something about 'having to be strong right now', and playfully kicked out.

'You want to get us both killed?' the Captain called up to her as she climbed steadily upwards.

'Nope,' she stretched and hooked her hand around the comforting grip of a metal girder. She heaved herself upwards, reaching into the night. Against all odds, she was enjoying herself.

It was happening. All this was a step closer to her daughter.

Or to something else.

Something she didn't want to think about.

*

She wrapped herself tighter around the support strut, listening to the awful sound of glass slowly being scraped away. The wind was howling now, cutting through the Alps like a knife blade. She buried her face into the fur hood of her parka, letting the soft, synthetic material comfort her, gentle against her skin. She didn't dare to move, instead clinging on as hard as she could as those around her worked steadily and stealthily with practiced hands. Those protecting her were disappearing now, and she felt a hand tug at her elbow. Glancing up she looked into the warm blue eyes of her compatriot, and heard the Sussex accent say.

'Your turn next, trouble.'

'Who are you calling 'trouble'?' she smiled as she edged past him, feeling him holding her, keeping her from slipping. Tentatively she made her way to the edge.

'Oh you're definitely trouble,' the Captain continued, hoping to distract her. 'I could have had a nice easy deployment. Afghanistan. Iraq. The United States. Instead I'm here, cold and miserable with a whiny female spook.'

'Shut up, soldier boy,' she smiled back, unable to see much in the darkness but hearing his smile in his voice. She edged closer to where he was directing her, and nearly fell forwards as her foot slipped into nothingness. Strong arms held her back.

'There?' she whispered. She felt a brief nod against her shoulder.

'Trust me.'

She swallowed hard, staring down into nothing. The harness was tight around her hips and thighs, she felt a hand fumble at her waist, the metallic sound of a caribena being clipped in. A not so subtle shove in her back pushed her forwards, and she lowered herself down into the space in the cut glass.

Into nothing but darkness. She was being slowly dropped, a controlled descent, that seemed to take forever.

Finally, her feet bumped against hard metal, and she dropped to her knees, her hands seeking purchase and finding it. Carefully, she lowered herself down, unclipping the caribena, and reaching underneath the surface to find another hold. Feeling secure at long last she lay flat, her stomach pressed into hard metal. Her hands sought out the edges of her perilous platform and she realised that the width of her platform was roughly two feet. It didn't exactly inspire confidence. She could feel her heart thudding in her chest.

She felt something brush against her hand, and looking up, she saw beyond his hand the blue eyes of her captain. They were warm and sympathetic, and more importantly, they were understanding. His fingers curled around hers, and she squeezed them back tightly. He didn't let go, and she focused on the gentle pressure.

It took her mind off everything else.

*

It was light now, Ashleigh could tell, even though her eyes were still tightly squeezed shut.

There was a crack that seemed to echo throughout the entire building. An all too familiar 'crack'.

Voices were ringing out far below her, and she recognised one. She listened intently, waiting, for the signal.

When it came, she stood.

Without hesitation, she stepped out into space, the air rushing past her.

She fell.


	45. Chapter Forty Four

Although the woman technically qualified for a bus pass, she still looked elegant, refined and perfectly sophisticated. Dressed in a very pale grey suit with a black lace camisole underneath, pearls in her ears and at her throat, M threw her head back as she mounted the steps to the podium and knew that she simply oozed control. She glanced down at the delegates and felt a small flicker of satisfaction at the way they stared at her obediently, like a bunch of schoolboys awaiting their morning lesson.

'Good morning,' she greeted them coolly, sneakily sliding a stack of small note cards beneath the ledge of the podium. 'I'd like to start by thanking you all for travelling here on such short notice.'

This was a lie, but it was good to flatter them, to make them think that they were doing her a favour rather than the other way round. The male ego was so easy to control. She glanced around the delegates and noted only one other woman - a hard faced, sullen woman in her early forties who bore the look of disappointment worn by a woman who hadn't succeeded as well as she had liked. M frowned, knowing how difficult it was to survive in such a male dominated world, and wanted to offer some words of support. M had got where she was today by fighting tooth and nail, and sometimes, outside of the pages of the rule book. Now she was at the top of her game, and she was damned if she was going to let anyone oust her from it prematurely.

Even the threat of death wouldn't stop her.

She knew that they called her the Ice Queen. And she knew that the building where she stood acted as the perfect foil to that nickname. The United Nations had built this oversized ice cube high in the Alps as a meeting place, a private conference room where the Heads of Security could meet in peace and quiet, beyond the eyes of the world's paparazzi. M didn't trust the media. Especially not after all that business with Elliot Carver. She stole a glance at the pompous Head of the Royal Navy. She rather suspected he didn't either, not with all the bad press they had received. It was a shame. She was rather fond of the old goat. He called a spade a spade and then smacked one round the head with it. And he had finally managed to laugh with regards to her comments about not having to think with one's testicles. It had taken six months of sweet talking and a vast amount of a very fine cognac, but it had finally worked and M knew she had an ally for life. Geoffrey saw her looking and raised a thick, shaggy eyebrow at her, forcing her to suppress a small smile.

She looked away, glancing upwards at the high dome roof. The building reminded her of the Eden Project in Cornwall, a vast glass igloo, each individual hexagonal pane of glass rising into the cold blue sky, supported by steel struts. It made the air around them feel chilled, despite M knowing a sophisticated heating system kept the atmosphere temperate.

'On September 11th 2001, the world stood united in disbelief as terrorists attacked New York and Washington. Thousands of innocent people lost their lives. Since that date, further attacks have occurred. Madrid,' she nodded towards the thin, bearded Spanish representative, a gesture of conciliation before continuing. 'and London both suffered terrible attacks. The so called War on Terror has been a world wide focus for several years. Valuable resources have been pooled into this 'war' and many lives have been lost. Civilian, military and covert lives. My agency has lost several high ranking agents in the opium fields of Afghanistan and in Iraq.'

M glanced around at the disinterested faces. It was clear that this was a speech they had heard one time too many and if she was honest, she had given it one time too many as well. She sighed inwardly, and knew that she had to carry on. Her eyes flickered left and right, looking for any unusual movements, any signal that she should get the hell out of there. Her mouth was suddenly dry, and despite her coolness and calm under fire, she felt very exposed and vulnerable. It was a sensation that rankled M, and it stirred a rebellious streak in her that made her throw her head back defiantly and continue.

'In this time of strife and antagonism, we, the agents of the underworld, must join together. Sharing information is of the utmost importance. Intelligence is the key to the success against this poison that is sweeping the world. Even those of us who were once on opposite sides of the Iron Curtain must now cooperate to ensure stability and progress.'

Out of the corner of her eye, M saw movement. Stealthily, in the higher echelons of the room, shadowy figures were moving. Perversely, M felt reassured and anxious all at the same time. Silently she sent up a prayer to whatever higher being might be listening and wondered why on earth she was trusting her life into James Bond's hands.

She hoped that it wasn't the last thing she did.

Her hands gripped the edge of the podium lightly. She spoke, but she could not recall the words she spoke. They seemed to make sense for in the audience she could see the gathered congregation nodded knowingly and in agreement.

The shot, when it came, was terribly loud.

The pain in her side was immense as M felt a solid body crash into her. The floor was hard, and she lay huddled against the thick, new smelling carpet, almost crushed by the man protecting her, the assigned guard who had been anticipating the shot. M had heard gunfire before, had been fired at on more than one occasion, but it was the first time she had ever willingly offered herself up as the ultimate sacrifice, and as bait, and knowing how close she was gambling with Death, knowing that she was putting herself in his hands, and waiting to see if her gamble paid off and she lived.

Or if she died.

It seemed perhaps she had won, but she wasn't prepared to check just yet. Apart from the suffocating sensation of a man much taller than her half crouched, half lying on her, she could feel no pain, and assessing herself from head to toe, she seemed to be mostly in one piece. Hope surged through her, however she still had no intention of lifting her head above the parapet just yet.

She was optimistic.

Not stupid.

For a moment, part of her wonders if today's actions are actually stupidity? To risk her own life, and the life of so many of her counterparts for the sake of baiting the man named Le Loup? Had she finally fallen victim to the same curse that had driven both James and Alec for so long? The need for revenge, the need to see her enemies brought before her, shackled and bound?

For too long M has pursued the man named Le Loup. She knew that he was responsible for the deaths of too many of her agents. She knows that he is responsible for deaths of agents before her time in command. Not least David Kain. The list was long and distinguished, and M wanted him brought down. Dead or alive.

She heard the panicked shouts of the civilised men in suits who head similar organisations to her own as they cower away from the gunfight. The rattle of machine gun fire is harsh in the cold echoes. From somewhere far away there is the sound of glass disintegrating into a thousand pieces.

Struggling to breathe, M managed to wriggle free a little from the protective hunk of human flesh. She rolled onto her back, gasping for air, and gasped again, this time as the sky above her seemed to be filled with falling bodies.

She had planned this very moment, but as it unfolded around her, she could only stare in awe and hope that it was enough to draw out the one man she desperately wanted to bring down. She knew there other, more personal vendettas at stake here as well, and knew that this day would end in bloodshed.

For some reason, the thought thrilled her. The Ice Queen was melting as fire and a thirst for vengeance raged in her own, unspilled blood.

*

James Bond huddled against the protective barrier of a balcony somewhere high in the auditorium. He fingered the safety catch on his precious Walther PPK, his weapon of choice for as long as he could remember. He knew that it distinguished him, and singled him out from the others, but still he could not bear to part with the gun, no matter how many times it had nearly been his downfall.

Dressed in a heavy black fur lined parka, over ski trousers, he felt hot and flustered and deliberately set about slowing his breathing in an attempt to calm himself down. Once again he found himself cursing M's decision to place herself directly in the line of fire. How the hell could he be expected to protect her, and other important figure heads, against Le Loup's men? The pack would tear through the building singling out the weakest and killing indiscriminately. With luck, collateral damage would be minimal, but he wouldn't bet against several high ranking obituaries being published in the international press within the next forty eight hours.

Sheer stupidity, he called it, or bravery perhaps, it didn't matter they both usually boiled down to the same thing.

And allowing Ashleigh to participate? Was the woman mad? Ashleigh should have had been sent straight back to Sicily with an armed guard watching her every movement. She was getting far too cocksure, and far too dangerous. She had smelt blood, and James knew now that this search for her daughter would end with blood being spilt.

He just hoped to God and to the Devil and whoever else might be listening that it wasn't his.

Charles Robinson was of a similar mindset, and James knew that the man's knee wasn't the only thing that was hurting right now. Charles's pride could become a major problem in this situation. He knew that the Chief of Staff was based only metres away, acting primarily as a communications source. James had no idea how many agents were actually in the building, but right now he was of the opinion that however many could never be too many.

He swore under his breath, and as if in response to his muttered curse, a shot rang out.

Instantly he was on his feet, covering the room, searching all the while for the direction the shot had come from.

Men in uniform seemed to crawl from every crack in the wall, seemed to pour through every door. Dressed in a motley collection of military insignia, Le Loup's men invaded, and all hell broke loose.

Glancing around, James was gratified to see his boss being rugby tackled by a heavy the size of a small car. The petite grey haired woman was shoved down behind the podium in a particularly undignified manner, and lay sprawled on the floor with the bodyguard pinning her down. It didn't matter that he was firing shots in the general direction that the bullet had come from, James couldn't help but let a wry grin spread across his face at the sight. It was certainly one to remember.

A bullet whipped past his face, inches away and a damned sight too close for comfort. James glanced briefly at the newly appeared hole in the wall to the left of him and turning, he fired coldly at his assailant. The man fell, his body ricocheting over the edge of the balcony, before falling with a wet thud to the floor metres below.

And then suddenly, there was peace. A stunned ceasefire.

From high above there was the sound of cables being extended.

An aerial attack was launched.

From where they had hidden on the metal girders high above in the glass structure, the back up arrived. Attached to ropes and extending cables, they simply leapt into the air, freefalling until the tenshioners they used halted them just above the floor. A simple click was all that was needed to release them from their harnesses, and suddenly, Le Loup's men were fiercely outnumbered.

The gun fire increased rapidly, and somewhere in the background, James heard the retreat sound. As he turned towards the sound of the voice, he caught sight of hazel eyes, and wavy chestnut hair.

She was staring at him in horror from nearby.

She ran.

He followed. For now.


	46. Chapter Forty Five

The first few seconds of freefall were terrifying to Ashleigh. She wanted to desperately to clutch at the rope that supported her, but knew to do so, from several, extremely graphic warnings, would lead to her hands being skinned at the best. At the worse, she could lose her hands full stop. The air rushed around her as she fell, putting all her trust into the simple climbing apparatus.

She fell for what seemed like forever, and in that time the fear left her. She felt her heart soar, her breathing slowed from its panicked gasps and adrenaline pumped steadily through her veins.

It was over all too soon. The clips locked off, jerking her to a stop just a metre above the ground. For a moment, she remained suspended there, almost turning in a complete circle before her hands fumbled for the release clip and she dropped to the ground, weapon in hand.

The blow to her neck was cushioned by the thick hood of her white parka, absorbing most of the impact that should have knocked her unconscious and instead merely stunned her. She fell to the floor, hitting knees first, and instinctively rolling over. The man above her seemed to block out all light, and she sensed rather than saw the gun in his hand. She threw herself backwards, almost into a somersault, rolling onto her upper back and shoulders before flinging herself forward, using the momentum to thrust her feet up and out in a vicious double footed kick. It caught the bastard full in the stomach, and winded, he fell, Ashleigh only just managing to roll out of the way. Her gun in her hand, acting as a cudgel, she hit out hard at his head, plunging him deep into brutal unconsciousness.

Her size was her best asset, she realised quickly. At 5'5 she was a good six inches smaller than the shortest of men in the room, and she could move quickly into open gaps. Gunshot tore through the building, and Ashleigh ducked as a so called bullet proof glass window shattered above her, unable to withhold the relentless assault anymore. She crouched, hands thrown over her head as shards of glass rained down upon her. She felt small pinprick flashes of heat and pain as they ripped into the bare skin of her hands, and unexposed parts of her face. Blood trickled slowly from a small gash in her forehead as she finally stood, brushing glass off her clothes.

Somehow, among the horror and violence around her, she saw James. His arms were around a petite woman, and he was dragging her towards a door. Confusion flooded through her, as she tried to place the woman and with a sudden jolt, recognition coursed through her. She knew. She knew the woman.

Red hot angry blinded her. Fury seemed to overtake every rational cell in her body and without understanding what was happening, she was tearing across the room, through the fighting, ducking blows and shrugging off grasping hands.

Jasmin.

Jasmin was alive.

*

Her body was slim and supple in his arms. He caught the scent of the heavy floral perfume that she wore and James's senses were almost overwhelmed. She writhed in his arms in a terrible mimic of their lovemaking, reminding him of her passion, of her naked vulnerability. Her hazel eyes met his, pleading and widening with fear. She gasped as his grip tightened. Relentlessly, he pulled her through the door, dragging her down a corridor, into another, until the sounds of the battle had subsided and they were left alone.

He almost threw her away from him, she stumbled but caught herself upright, leaning against a wall to steady herself. She was panting heavily. It caused her chest to rise invitingly beneath the tight black jacket and James, against his better judgement, found himself watching her breast as it swelled and rescinded. He couldn't help but recall the softness of her skin, and the gently rough texture of her hardened nipple beneath the palm of his hand. Exquisite torture, he thought, feeling sweat break out on his upper lip. He must control himself, he forced himself back to staring at her.

'James,' she gasped, her arm twitched as if she were about to lift a hand to him, but she seemed to think better of it.

'You're here,' he groaned, running a hand, still clutching his gun through his thick dark hair.

'Yes,' she whispered, and she seemed terrified.

'Le Loup?'

Her tongue darted out, wetting her pink lips before she spoke nervously. 'He's not here,' she confessed.

'Of course not. He wouldn't dare risk his own skin.'

She flushed at the insult to her boss, but he noticed that she didn't contradict him.

'I should kill you here and now,' he growled. 'Or at least hand you straight to M.'

The flush left her skin rapidly, she paled under her olive skin. 'Would you?' she finally managed to ask.

'I should,' he shook his head, unsure what she feared most. Death or those she had betrayed? 'Tell me one thing…'

'Anything!' she interrupted quickly, hope clear in her tone.

'Were you working for Le Loup before or after you started working for MI6?'

She couldn't meet his eyes, choosing to look away as she answered. 'Before,' it was said in barely a whisper.

It shouldn't have mattered, considering the scale of her betrayal, but for some reason it did. She had power over him. He had considered a future with her, even if only for a few fleeting hours, kisses, in the darkness of the night.

'James,' it was amazing how much she could say in just one word. It was amazing how little he could believe any of it. 'James, please…'

He laughed, and it was a brutally cold sound in the empty corridor. 'Don't beg, Jasmin. It's not your style.'

She tilted her head back. She had her pride, but she was defeated. She must realise that.

'What is it that you need? Protection? Immunity? Or just a clear path back to Le Loup?'

'I-I can't go back to him,' she stammered.

'But you will, won't you?'

'He's insane,' she spat. 'He's so caught up in this stupid, this stupid… revenge plot that he's forgotten everything else. He's never forgiven Alec Trevelyan for crossing him and now we've all been dragged down with him. He won't let me go, James. I know too much.'

'And if you cross him?'

'What the hell do you think?' she laughed at his stupidity. 'I'm nothing to him. Just a pretty face. I used to be useful, now he sends me out here in the hopes of getting rid of me.'

'So what now?' James asked, and she sensed his hesitation. Slowly, she closed the gap between them, so she was inches away.

'Help me,' she sighed, 'I'm not going to beg you James, but if you could find it in you… if I meant anything to you, help me. Help me to survive.'

'Meant anything?' he repeated in disbelief. 'You lied, Jasmin. You're a traitor. You really think that you meant anything to me?'

'Yes,' she breathed. Leaning up on tiptoes, she brushed her lips against his.

He resisted the urge to push her away. He didn't know whether to kiss her again or to kill her. He knew logically that he should be frogmarching her perfectly formed arse straight to M. Logic had disappeared the moment he had set eyes on her. Reaching up, he curled a strand of her hair around his fingers.

'Name your terms,' he said harshly.

'I can help,' she nodded frantically. 'I can tell you where he is, where Natasha Trevelyan is.' She turned her head, to kiss the palm of his hand.

'And in return?'

'Help me, help me get away from him. Help me to change my life. For the better,' demurely she dropped her eyes away from his, so all he could see was the length of her straight, neat nose, and the dark arch of her eyebrows.

'Jasmin…' he leant down, tilting his head under hers, kissing her mouth deeply. She responded instantly, her arms around his neck, pulling him close. She gasped with pleasure, and at the sound he realised what he was doing, and pushed her away.

'James?' Confusion, and fear, were clear in her eyes. She frowned, and he realised how good she was at manipulating.

'I'll do what I can,' he said roughly. 'If you tell me where to find them.'

For a moment, he thought she was going to kiss him again, as she stepped closer, leaning up towards him, but her mouth bypassed his, and instead found his ear. Her warm breath caressed and teased as she recited a string of six numbers, familiar in their organisation.

Co-ordinates.

She stood back, and he nodded once. The sullen look returned to her face. 'You have to help me now,' she said stubbornly.

'I said I'll try. I can't promise anything more than that,' James said warningly.

'Just remember,' she said in the same tone, 'that sometimes the opposite of what you think you know is true. Don't judge me too harshly, James. Not when you're so vulnerable right now.'

'That all depends on who you ask,' James said sarcastically. 'Right now, you're hardly in a position to discuss terms. Or vulnerability.'

Jasmin wasn't looking at him though. Her eyes had slipped over his shoulder, and she suddenly retreated back a few steps.

Behind him, James heard a door slam. He knew who would be there without even having to look. Yet still he did.

'Fraternising with the enemy, James?'

'Put the gun down, Ashleigh.'

'I don't think so,' Ashleigh stepped forward and James turned his own weapon on her. She scowled at the sight of her own godfather with a gun pointing right at her, but she said nothing. Simply carried on walking down the corridor, aiming at the couple in front of her.

'So you're alive?' Ashleigh spat.

'Yes,' Jasmin said simply.

'I knew it,' Ashleigh laughed darkly. 'It was too convenient, too well done.'

'You didn't think so at first,' Jasmin was defiant.

'Perhaps,' Ashleigh conceded, 'but the more I thought I about, the more I came to realise. I've been waiting for you, Jasmin. Waiting for you to crawl out of your hole once more. And now you have.'

'Don't be stupid, Ashleigh,' James sighed.

'Stupid?' Ashleigh turned her cool anger onto James. 'Despite everyone taking me for a fool, and I include you in that generalisation, I am not stupid.'

'Then put the weapon down. Jasmin is trying to help.'

'And you believe that?'

If he hadn't hesitated, Ashleigh would have believed him. 'Yes.'

'Move.' She gestured with her gun, a fluid sweeping movement to the left. When he refused to do so, she sighed impatiently. 'If I have to shoot through you, James, I will. Don't make me.'

She was waiting for him to argue back, to take the verbal tack, so she was surprised when he remained silent.

'Move, James! Damn it!'

James didn't move, but Jasmin did. Taking advantage of the two British agents bickering she started moving backwards, a small step at a time. At the last moment, Ashleigh realised, and threw herself forwards.

Only to be caught in James's arms. He held the smaller woman back, wrapping his arms around her as she struggled and strained, pulling against his strength.

'Let me go!' Ashleigh howled. 'You can't let her get away with this!'

She was writhing in his arms, trying frantically to break free. James closed his eyes, taking in a deep breath. Suddenly, she was gone, and he heard her footsteps pounding down the corridor after the other woman.

Later, much later, when James was asked, he would say that she broke free. That she had fought like a woman possessed and taken advantage of a weak spot just behind his previously damaged knee.

He wouldn't admit even to himself if he had let her go.

Let alone to M.


	47. Chapter Forty Six

Ashleigh ran.

The corridors seemed endless and all looked the same. Blank white walls with the same mid blue, bland and soulless carpet. She felt her chest tighten with the effort, as each step seemed to take her further away from safety, but closer to her prey.

She was the hunter.

Jasmin was half the corridor length in front of her. Adrenaline and fear gave the other woman's feet wings. She was light footed, swift and accurate in her steps in the way that only the pursued can be.

Ashleigh could think of nothing but catching her. She focused on the bounce of Jasmin's dark curls and the slim body in the black trousers and extremely fitted black ski jacket. Even now, Jasmin's vanity was clear.

Jasmin turned, and Ashleigh saw the fear in her hazel eyes. She felt a flicker of pity, but hardened herself against it. She told herself that she could not allow herself to feel anything; she just had to catch up with her.

For a moment as Jasmin rounded a corner once more, she was out of sight and Ashleigh surged forward, not willing to risk this for anything.

She skidded round the corner in time to see Jasmin bashing on a door. Jasmin panicked, and slammed her full weight against the door which flew open, propelling her through it. Then she was gone.

Crashing through the door herself, Ashleigh was almost blinded by the glare of the sun on snow. White light seemed to envelope her; the wind caught at her and threatened to throw her off balance. She searched frantically, and leaning over the railing of the narrow ledge, she saw Jasmin reach the bottom of a flight of concrete steps. Jasmin glanced up at her, and for a moment they stared at each other, Ashleigh almost directly over the top of her.

Jasmin ran, kicking the powdery snow up behind her.

It forced Ashleigh into action. She vaulted over the railing and fell the single storey to the ground. The snow only did so much to cushion her landing and she crashed to the ground, rolling several times. She lay stunned for a moment, snow in her mouth and hair, cooling her flushed face. Shaking her head, she heard a noise, as a petrol engine spluttered into life. She lifted her face from the snow and saw Jasmin straddling a skidoo. She glanced back, a triumphant smile on her red lips and revved the throttle.

The buzz of a second engine penetrated Ashleigh's stunned consciousness. There was a guard shouting, he was standing tall on the slim machine, shouting orders. He was pointing frantically at the fallen spy. Stumbling to her feet, Ashleigh faced him down. The man smiled, cruelly, seeing the woman in a humble, submissive position.

It was a mistake. As he rounded the machine closer to her, she lashed out, her forearm striking hard across her throat. The momentum carried him backwards, throwing him hard into the snow. He coughed fiercely, but managed to reach out toward Ashleigh as she threw a leg over the machine. It was his second mistake. Her booted foot met the underneath of his chin, and this time as he hit the snow, he was definitely unconscious.

Ashleigh pointed the skidoo up the hill, following the tracks of Jasmin. She would find her.

*

Jasmin was in pain.

The skidoo had been awkward to control, fickle and slippery beneath her hands. She had misjudged a jump, not seeing the large rock underneath the piled up snow. There had been a brief moment of flight, and Jasmin had thought that she had been safe, but suddenly, the machine had landed, flipped, and Jasmin had been twisted underneath. She lay panting in the snow, the cold of the soft substance a sharp contrast to the hot metal that was pressed into her calf. Slowly she tried to work her way free, all the time hearing the quiet buzz of another engine getting closer and closer.

Her heart was pounding, her mouth was dry. Blind panic was driving her on, but she was trapped here, even as she clawed at the snow around her leg.

Ashleigh was coming after her.

She moaned at the thought. The horror that had filled her as she had spotted the other woman had almost rid of her the joy she had felt as she had seen James.

James might have helped her. He might have been able to see her, but not while Ashleigh was there.

She was surprised by how much she had cared for James, how much his presence had soothed her. Now she realised it had only given her false hope. Reminded her just how insignificant she was in the great scheme of things. Yet Ashleigh knew. Ashleigh would not let Jasmin get away with any of the slights that she had dealt her. She may not have a maternal bone in the body, but Jasmin knew that Ashleigh would fight to the death for her daughter.

That she had been forced to do so by Jasmin's actions.

Jasmin sobbed a single high pitched noise that tore itself from her throat. It was over almost before it began. She frantically began to dig, the heavy machine pressing her hard into the ground. It took sheer physical action to get her leg free; she had to forcibly wrap her hands around her calf and pull, gritting her teeth as another layer of skin surrendered to the metal.

She struggled to her feet, the noise of the engine ever closer. Here she was just out of sight, just over the ledge. Below her, Ashleigh was gaining, closing the distance bit by bit, metre by metre.

There was a small copse of trees ahead of her, two hundred metres or so away. Staggering as she moved, she ran for the meagre shelter.

*

Slowly, Ashleigh brought the skidoo to a stop. She coasted lightly in a circle, watching the woman in black slip amongst the trees. She pulled the gun free from under her jacket and carefully checked the clip. She began to walk towards the trees, the gun held loosely in her hand, bouncing gently against her thigh with every step.

*

The copse hadn't offered as much protection as Jasmin had hoped. She had radioed into Le Loup's men, begging for support, but she knew that she was very low on their list of priorities. She had hoped to hide, to wait it out, to hope against hope that she would be protected.

Jasmin Van Dien suddenly felt very alone and very exposed.

Even more so when she heard the rustle of footsteps in the snow behind her.

Jasmin turned.

Ashleigh was walking towards her, gun held to her face, peering along the sight. Irrationally, Jasmin found herself respecting the woman for having come this far alone. It seemed like forever since they had shared a drink on the terrace in Cuba. She may actively dislike the woman, but she could still give her respect. Albeit grudgingly.

'They're coming for me,' Jasmin snapped.

With an exaggerated look around, Ashleigh shrugged. 'I don't see anyone here but you.'

It infuriated Ashleigh that even though Jasmin's trousers were shredded on one leg, and with a look of fear on her face, she was still beautiful. The adrenaline had caused a pink flush to come to her cheeks, her hair was tousled. She could see what James saw in her. She looked vulnerable. Harmless. Yet this was the woman who had sold her daughter's soul down the river. Who had tore her family apart.

Ashleigh's resolve tightened, and she adjusted her grip on the weapon.

Jasmin's shoulders slumped. 'He'll kill me,' she said simply.

'Le Loup?'

'Merkalov,' Jasmin confirmed. 'He's insane.'

'You're frightened of him?'

'Yes,' Jasmin licked her dry lips. It was cold in the mountains and she was starting to shiver. The pain in her leg was bothering her too.

'Is that why you told him about my daughter?'

The question caught Jasmin off guard. She hesitated a moment too long and when she finally did speak, it was obviously insincere. 'Yes.'

'Really? I don't believe you,' Ashleigh said lightly. 'So what was it? Money?'

Jasmin remained stubbornly silent.

'Power? Fast cars? Fast men? What is the going rate for betraying your country nowadays? Alec at least had world domination in his sights.'

'It wasn't like that,' Jasmin scowled sulkily.

'Of course it wasn't, it never is,' Ashleigh gave a cold smile. 'So give me one good goddamned reason why I shouldn't hand you over to MI6 right now.'

Jasmin tilted her chin into the air. 'Because if you wanted to hand me over, you'd have never have let me run.'

Ashleigh's smile widened into a vicious parody of a grin. 'How true,' she agreed jovially. 'Will Le Loup really kill you?'

'I've outlived my usefulness.'

'I see. You handed him my daughter on a plate, shortly followed by my husband. You managed to wrap James Bond around your little finger, and as of right now there is a little plaque with your name being erected at MI6 for us to all wail and moan before. You're already dead, Jasmin. Don't you know that? I saw you killed.'

'Let me go,' Jasmin said carefully, 'and I'll tell you where you can find Alec.'

Ashleigh snorted. 'Not good enough. There's only one thing I want. My daughter. You took her away from me. You took my child.' Ashleigh looked carefully, critically at the other woman. 'Do you have family? A mother? A father?'

'A father. A brother.'

'Do you love them?'

'I haven't seen them for a long time.'

Ashleigh nodded. 'I don't have a family, you see. Well, I didn't. I had James, but he doesn't really count. Before I met Alec, I was alone. A few distant relatives, not really family as such. Then there was Alec. And he gave me the most precious thing in the world. Something I didn't even know I wanted. A daughter, a family. Until the day that you took all that away from me. You and Le Loup walked into my life and you took my daughter. And I will never forgive you for that. I will never forgive him. Even if I find her, safe and well, I will never forgive you.'

Ashleigh paused. 'Tell me she's okay.'

'She's fine. She was ill for a little while, with chickenpox, but she recovered well.'

'And Alec?'

'What about him?' Jasmin said warily.

'Did you sleep with him?'

'No.'

Jasmin was really shivering now. She was staring at Ashleigh with wide eyes and Ashleigh felt a sudden coldness sweep over her. Alec had always believed in revenge and suddenly, it was here in front of her, just for her taking.

Revenge was sweet.

Turning slightly to one side, Ashleigh quickly clicked the safety off the gun and fired several times into the hard packed earth. Snow exploded into the air as the bullets thudded heavily into the ground.

Jasmin leapt backwards but to her credit, remained silent. She stared at the other woman, fear clear on her face.

Ripping the clip from the gun, Ashleigh showed it to her.

'One left,' she said softly. 'Now run.'

Jasmin simply stared, her eyes flickering between the clip in Ashleigh's hand and her cold, hard, brown eyes. She hesitated only a moment longer before turning on her tail and trying to run through the deep snow.

With cold, calculated movements, Ashleigh slid the clip back into place and eased back the safety.

She had only run a matter of yards, but Jasmin paused. Slowly she turned round. Her dark hair framed her head like a wild halo; even from here Ashleigh could see the red of her lips and the brilliance of her green eyes. She stood tall and straight, slim and lithe in her black skiwear. Proudly. Defiantly. Resolutely. Perhaps even resigned.

The gunshot was loud in the silence, even louder it seemed than the previous, rapid shots. It echoed into the mountain air and there was the drifting smell of smoke in Ashleigh's nostrils. She'd felt the recoil of the weapon in her hand, the jolt when she had fired. Her hand tingled.

Jasmin crumpled to the ground.

Slowly, Ashleigh began to walk towards her.

Even in death, she was beautiful. Her hair fanned out around her, the rich olive of her skin only just beginning to pale. Her eyes were open, staring into the beyond, the colour just starting to fade. Reaching down, gently, almost a caress, Ashleigh ran her hand over them, closing them, settling the long, dark lashes against the high cheekbones.

The bullet had hit her squarely in the chest. Death would have been instantaneous. Small mercies, Ashleigh thought. She expected to feel more. Instead there was nothing but a faint sense of triumph and relief. Blood trickled from the chest wound, a dark, wet stream on the black fabric until it met the snow covered ground, spreading slowly through the frozen crystals. At first a faint, pink diluted stain, it rapidly became darker, more vivid.

Blood on the snow.

There was no time to eulogise, no time to feel. Ashleigh stood, turning back towards the abandoned skidoo.

The first man stepped slowly out from behind the tree. There was a band of gold around one of his fingers. She saw it as he raised the automatic weapon to shoulder height. He was the first of several.

She was surrounded. All the men were armed. They ordered her to surrender.

Slowly, Ashleigh raised her hands, her pistol dropping from her right hand as she did so. They stepped forward, closing in on her, none of them paying any attention to the dead woman laying in the snow.

At last, Ashleigh thought. At last.


	48. Chapter Forty Seven

Charles Robinson delivered the butcher's bill as M paced her small makeshift office and wondered whether to act now, or leave it until much later. Pacing calmed her, made her feel like she was doing something. And anyway, sitting down caused her ribs to hurt far too much and she wasn't going to give Charles the satisfaction of knowing that. She already knew that he'd taken far too much pleasure in her being smacked to the deck by seventeen stone of pure muscle.

In her youth, she might have enjoyed that experience, but now she just desperately wanted a hot bath and a chance to assess the damage. Her ribs were a spectacular rainbow of bruises, and she'd hit the back of her head as she'd landed. That was now a dull ache that was threatening to become a full blown headache.

'We've had three reported fatalities so far, and one agent is on life support in ITU. Chances are fifty-fifty that he'll pull through but he requires major surgery, so a transporter has been scheduled to return him to the UK urgently. That transporter can also take the four criticals back. Seven further have minor injuries and expect to be back to duty in the near future. And we have one MIA...' Charles sighed, and M nodded quickly, hoping to stem any talk of that particular agent, she was still working on that plan of action.

'What about Le Loup's men?'

'They suffered far greater than we did,' Charles said with some degree of satisfaction. The bodies are in the process of being identified, but we suspect that most will never be. These aren't exactly men who operate in normal channels. '

'Any sign of Le Loup?'

'There are no eyewitness reports of him. Do you really think that he'd risk putting in an appearance?'

M smiled darkly. 'We can always hope that they might make a stupid mistake one day'.

'There's always that,' Charles sat back and put the small PDA he had been reading off down on the desk. He rapped his fingers lightly against the metal before speaking. 'You were right about Van Dien,' he said finally.

M raised a regal eyebrow but said nothing. Lowering herself gingerly into the unforgiving chair, she waited for Charles to continue.

'She was spotted in the melee. Bond apparently got close to her, but she escaped.

M nodded. 'I really must look into the screening methods we use,' she said lightly, 'that's another double agent we've let slip through the net.'

Charles respectfully remained silent. When M was flippant it meant that she was thinking things through far more deeply than first impressions implied.

'There are two people I want to talk to,' M said at last. 'The first is Bond. The second... well, James can help me get through to him.'

*

Bond had escaped fairly lightly from the situation, he thought to himself as he mentally reviewed the events of the day before. A few cuts and bruises from the odd direct punch and evasive manoeuvres and a flicker of guilt that sliced through his subconscious when his guard wasn't up. He knew that M would want a debrief of what had happened soon enough, and that this was simply the calm before the storm. He had been in this game for too long. Events followed a certain pattern every time. Le Loup was close to being tracked down. It was time for the final showdown. And for the first time in as long as he could remember, Bond didn't want to be a part of it. He wanted to be as far away as possible. Pride didn't allow him to actually verbalise these thoughts, but it was clear in his actions. He had avoided as many people as possible, in particular Robinson and M. Questions needed to be answered and Bond knew that there would be several about what had happened with Jasmin and Ashleigh. The problem was that all Bond knew was that he had watched the two women disappear down the corridor and knew that Ashleigh was out for blood. And that he had let her go after it.

There was a ripple of unrest through the makeshift base, and James had a feeling it was because of the missing agent. Ashleigh had simply vanished. Reports from the outside of the UN building had said that two women had been sighted heading down the mountain on skidoos. A guard had been found nursing a broken jaw who had said that a woman with short dark hair and wearing a white parka had forcibly taken his vehicle. He had no further information beyond a neat pattern of a boot print picked out on the lower half of his face in bruising.

He took a deep breath and forced himself to walk through the building towards M's office. He would take the bull by the horns and confront her first, before he could be summoned. Ashleigh was missing and part of him didn't give a shit. She had rushed headlong into this situation and for once he could actually find sympathy for Alec Trevelyan. He had wanted his wife to stay at home and wait the situation out and that was what Ashleigh should have done. Alec was right. It was an uncomfortable feeling. Instead James had helped and found himself questioning more and more he own loyalties and his own life and it was a distinctly unpleasant sensation. His goddaughter had been foolish, stubborn, pigheaded and above all, she had been wrong.

He wondered if he would ever see her again and deep down he knew the answer. Because he knew where she was. And he would have to give M that information. Jasmin had tried to protect her own interests even at the very end and in return for his protection, she had given him the co-ordinates to Le Loup's base.

There was one weapon in his own arsenal that M didn't have access to, and at this thought, James slipped his hand into his pocket and fingered his mobile phone. A quick phone call. Even a text message would do. A few words. And Alec could use that information however he wished.

If he didn't already know.

'Bond?'

James glanced round, Charles was standing in the corridor, supporting himself still on crutches. 'The Boss would like to see you.'

James smiled as pleasantly as he could. 'After you, Charles.'

*

'Sit down, Bond,' M said, not unkindly. She gestured at the empty chair and watched as James lowered his tall frame into it, fastidiously adjusting his suit jacket as he did so. M paused, allowing the tension in the room to become almost palpable, then turned to Charles. 'Perhaps you'd be so good as to leave us for a few moments, Charles.'

Charles frowned but he struggled to his feet and left the room without, at least, a verbal protest.

M sat back and James saw that she was in pain. It was almost imperceptible, but it was there in the stilted and careful way she moved. She wasn't a young woman; he realised and thought how well she managed to disguise the fact. She looked tired too.

'I didn't want to discuss this with Charles in the room,' she said, speaking slowly, precisely and James knew that intimacy came hard for her. She was expected to be impersonal towards her agents, prepared to send them to their deaths at a moment's notice, but deep down, she struggled with those decisions. For some reason, she cared about him, no matter how much that emotion infuriated her. 'But I thought that you should know. It's very likely that Jasmin Van Dien is dead.'

'Again?' James said, but against his will his eyes closed slowly, briefly against the sudden hurt that flared inside him.

'Again,' M said softly. 'We found a large amount of blood in a group of trees about two miles from the UN. There were several discharged bullets found in the ground nearby. They were from Ashleigh's weapon. We're running the blood against Jasmin's file, but it was heavily diluted by the snow. We should have a report soon.'

'No body?'

'The imprints in the snow show there was one. There are several different tracks leading to and from the site. At least they had the decency to take her body,' M said carefully.

'And Ashleigh?'

'Our missing agent. As you already knew, James,' M hesitated. 'You were seen.'

'Sir?'

'With Van Dien. During the attack.'

'Sir.' There seemed no point in denying it. Yet also little point in confirming.

'Did you speak to her?'

'Yes.'

'And?'

There was true conflict on James's face for a few moments. Then he reached over, and snatched M's fountain pen and a scrap of paper. He scribbled the series of numbers down, and then pushed them towards her. 'She tried to ask for my protection,' he said in explanation.

'But you couldn't protect her from Ashleigh?' M asked, reaching down and staring at the paper.

'No,' Bond said with a crack in his voice. 'I promised her...' he swallowed. 'I promised her too much.'

M glanced sharply up. She wondered which woman he was referring to.

'I have a favour to ask you,' she said finally.

'Ask,' Bond said.

'I want to contact Alec,' she said quickly.

Bond's eyes narrowed. 'Now?'

'Soon.' M nodded. So far Bond hadn't disagreed which was more than she could have hoped for. She could have tracked Alec down, but that would take time and time was something she didn't want to waste. By asking James, she could keep this between them. 'His wife is missing, don't you think that he has a right to know?'

'What makes you think that he doesn't already know?' James asked. But he didn't say no.

*

Alec was nervous. He hadn't seen Le Loup for some time, and he had a feeling that he was being kept out of the loop. The events at the UN had unnerved him deeply.

He had done as Merkalov had asked, had found himself aiming a weapon directly at the one woman he respected on this planet.

No matter what side he was on, or what side she was fighting for, she had given him hope and a third chance at life.

And so he had followed orders as best as he could for his daughter's life and out of respect for his target, he had taken advantage of the chaos to aim slightly off centre.

He hoped to God that M would never know how close she came to death at his hands. He had seen her hair ruffle slightly as the bullet had missed by millimetres and then that heavy had intervened, slamming the petite woman to the ground. Watching her frantically wriggle under the massive bulk had managed to bring a smile to his lips even as he had turned to run.

They hadn't seen him. But he had seen her.

He had never seen Ashleigh as an agent. Even when they had first met, he had only seen the aftermath. In the fight, she had been cool, calm and lethal. A devastatingly accurate shot, she had killed at least twice that he had seen. For a few moments, they had once more been in the same room and he had hardened his heart long enough to escape. For their daughter's sake.

Now rumours abounded. He had heard it said that Jasmin was dead and he felt curious pity at that. She had been poorly used, and completely unable to control her own destiny. Yet at the same time, she had set out on that path. It was a gamble she had willingly took and now she had paid the highest price for that risk.

Merkalov had promised that he could see Natasha if he had assassinated M. Now he wondered if his failure meant that he would not get to hold his daughter in his arms. He wondered even if M had died would Merkalov have kept his promise?

The memory of his daughter was fading and that scared him. He had tried to keep her so separate from the rest of his life and though he had wanted to keep a photo of her with him at all times, like normal fathers did, fear of capture, of discovery had meant that he had resisted the urge. Now he could only summon her image to his mind and he was frightened, because that image became less clear every time. He could remember individual features, but he couldn't remember the way her eyes, her hair, her mouth, her nose all added up into her face. Sometimes when he tried to remember what she looked like he found himself remembering Ashleigh's face instead and he fought to push it away. He couldn't focus on Ash. He had to push her to one side. She needed to survive on her own. He needed her to prove that she could survive on her own.

The insistent vibration snapped him out of reverie. The mobile phone he kept on his person at all times was ringing, a steady silent pulse against his chest. Carefully glancing around, checking he was alone, a habit learnt through too much paranoia, he answered to the one person he knew it would be.

'James?'

'We know where he is,' James said carefully, there was no emotion in his voice. 'Are you at the place?'

'I'm not sure,' he laughed bitterly. 'I presume so, though perhaps in a separate area from him.'

'M wants to see you.'

'Impossible.'

'Make it possible.'

'You don't know what you're asking,' Alec allowed a small sigh to escape him.

'You don't know how determined M is,' James allowed a small trace of humour into his voice.

'I can well imagine,' Alec rubbed his temples. Under his fingers he felt the rough texture of his scars and flinched. The surrealness of the moment hit him at that point and he felt his knees threaten to collapse from beneath him. 'So what now?'

'We attack,' James said simply.

'When?'

'I'm not sure. M is very quiet on that subject. You know the way she works. She won't make a single move until she's analysed every single possible strategy.'

'It's one of her strengths,' Alec said softly and he meant it. M's reputation as a brilliant tactician was well deserved.

'It's also one of her weaknesses. Every second we wait is a second we lose. A second in which we could be tracking Le Loup.'

'I'll do my best to keep him occupied,' Alec said in a low, convincing voice. He meant every word and hoped that James would understand that promise.

'Anything else you can do?' the question was asked lightly enough, but there was a distinctly keen desire beneath the words.

Alec paused. 'I have my limits...'

'It's time to show your true colours, Janus,' James said darkly. 'Show us which way you truly face. To the past? Or to the future? What side are you on?'

'My daughter's,' Alec said simply. 'I have to do whatever I can to protect her. Please remember that. My daughter in involved. If there is one thing about me you can believe, it's that I love my daughter and I want her back. Safely.'

'And her mother?'

'Can handle herself. As I saw.'

There was a lightness to Alec's tone that made James hesitate. And he realised that Alec didn't know.

Things were suddenly even more complicated. The devil sitting on James's shoulder was telling him that he should disclose that vital snippet that Alec's wife was last seen beating seven shades out of a guard, and that the last evidence of her whereabouts was several bullets and a large pool of blood. Yet somehow, some misguided sense of loyalty meant that he couldn't bring himself to form the words. He pressed his fingers to his temple, and closed his eyes. Could it be that he was thawing towards Alec Trevelyan?

'M wants to talk to you,' James managed to say finally.

'In one hour's time,' Alec replied, then there was nothing but the irritating buzz of a disconnected line.


	49. Chapter Forty Eight

There was a steady dripping coming from somewhere, and as Ashleigh lay with her eyes slowly opening and closing, unseeing, she prayed desperately that it wasn't her blood that was making the noise. Pain seemed to explode from every angle, every limb ached, every muscle screamed and yet it only helped to make her feel alive.

In the darkness, she lay on the cold, ice cold floor, and waited patiently for whatever was going to happen next.

The pain kept her company.

*

With a straight back and an arrogant look on his face, Alec stalked through the corridors of Merkalov's base, not knowing that his daughter's small feet had ran through these hallways only weeks before. He didn't know how close he was to her, that if he had paused he might have heard the whisper of her prayers.

He didn't pause.

Guards scattered before him. They knew not to argue with the scarred man, knew not to get in his way. He was second only to Merkalov in this place. There were even those who wished that perhaps, he should be first.

History was repeating itself. Except this time, Alec's forces weren't Le Loup's men. He had stronger allies this time. All he had to do was get to help them get in.

It was easy enough. Give them a small opening and they could creep in. Slowly, meticulously infiltrating Le Loup's lair. Like cockroaches.

The furthest point of the western perimeter would be ideal. A flick of a switch, a few typed commands and suddenly, there was an entrance.

Simple and easy enough. Yet the simple action left a light sheen of sweat on Alec's brow.

He had betrayed Pierre Merkalov once before by taking his men and leading a rebellion against him. He had set himself up stronger than Le Loup had ever managed, and he had fallen from that position. Now he was in this situation because of that first betrayal and he recognised the irony of it all.

Not to mention the further irony that all he wanted now was a quiet life. His age was starting to creep up on him and he was tired. Tired of all this.

All he had to do was survive. If he did, he could find his daughter.

He hoped that it wasn't too much to ask for.

*

The freezing cold water hit Ashleigh hard, drenching her and jerking her rudely awake from her already disturbed slumber. She lay huddled against the wall as the onslaught continued, gasping, feeling like ice was tearing through her skin. She finally caught her breath in frantic gasps as she tried to blink the water away from her eyes.

'Good morning, Agent Kain,' a rich, rumbling voice said.

Ashleigh struggled to sit up. The floor was freezing, and her already aching limbs seemed to have seized up. As she lifted a hand to wipe water from her face, she saw the bruises on her hands, two of her knuckles were covered in cracked red scabs, and diluted blood ran lightly down to her wrist. She coughed violently and the icy air hit her lungs. She was freezing cold. Finally, she looked up at the person who addressed her.

The man standing over her seemed to be in his sixties, with a round, almost welcoming face half obscured by a thick but neatly trimmed beard. He stood half in shadow, but in the half light she saw a gold tooth glint and she half recognised him.

'I know you...' she said uncertainly.

'Paris,' the man, Le Loup, she realised with a sickening thud of recognition in her stomach, 'we met briefly in Paris.'

'So we did,' the words came awkwardly to her numb lips. She had literally bumped into him. Then he had seemed pleasant, unthreatening, a polite stranger who had helped her gather her belongings. Now she was frightened. He seemed domineering, a huge bear of man who was taking distinct advantage of his standing stance over her own pathetic huddling. She flinched as he leant down, slid a finger under her chin (even that hurt her) and tilted her battered face upwards.

'I was intrigued to see the woman my son had married,' he said and Ashleigh caught the underlying tone that he found her lacking. It was strange that this managed to insult her more than all his harsh treatment of her so far.

'My husband is not your son,' she managed to spit defiantly, the words tearing themselves from her cold, numb lips. She saw rage flicker deep into the man's eyes and she forced herself to stay still.

'I healed him. I gave him everything he could ever ask for. Guidance, power, I did everything that any father would have done. I am the closest thing to a father that he will ever have,' Merkalov's cold tone was clipped with anger.

'He hates you,' Ashleigh said, slowly turning the knife with more than a small amount of pleasure. Years with Alec had taught her the power of vindictiveness.

The blow was sudden, cracking hard across her face. A stinging backhand that clipped her eye and her nose and would no doubt cause more bruising than she already had. He threw her backwards and she hit the wall hard and slumped, feeling pain explode in the back of her head.

'It seems...' Merkalov was breathing hard as he straightened up, fighting to control his anger, 'it seems that you don't warrant too highly in his regard either.'

Ashleigh managed a pointed shrug. It was agony.

Merkalov paced the small cell. Ashleigh took the opportunity to try and regulate her breathing. She had been in this room, this cell for at least forty eight hours. She had slipped in and out of sleep during that time, trying to conserve energy, trying to let her battered body heal.

Le Loup's men hadn't been gentle with her.

She was fearful of looking too closely at her injuries. She knew she was bleeding from at least one gash on her head as her hair was matted with blood but had been reluctant to probe much further. She wondered if the just healed cut from the original attack in her home had broken open. How long ago that all seemed she thought suddenly. And now she was here, in pain, broken, bruised and aching, at the mercy of the man who her husband had once worked for. Who her husband was under the control of. It was a dangerous predicament to be in, but one she had longed for.

He was like a bear, she decided as he paced in front of her. Fit, well muscled, but with the slight slackness and the paunchiness that age brought to most men. His eyes were blue ice, his nose long and pointed, and there was a terrible sense of madness about him. Like he could strike at any moment without the slightest provocation. He already had, though he had been provoked, Ashleigh thought, wiping away a thin stream of blood that had started to trickle from her nose. Her face felt swollen, and breathing was awkward, so she tried hard to calm herself, long, slow deep breaths through her mouth.

'You work for MI6?' Merkalov said harshly.

'If you know, why ask?'

She knew it was stupid, but if she was to die at this man's hands, she would die fighting and bitter to the end. She would not give up. She remained hunched against the wall, her knees drawn up protectively against herself.

Le Loup crouched next to her. He took her face once more, gently this time, his eyes seeking something in her face, looking beyond the swelling and the bruising. 'Yes, I see it now...' he said quietly.

'See what?' Ashleigh asked, but his hand tightened on her jaw, sending sparks of pain through her face.

'So many things,' Merkalov said enticingly. 'What Alec sees in you... how much your daughter resembles you... How much you resemble your father...' His thumb caressed her cheek, sliding gently over the bruised cheekbone, down to the dry lips to trace the round curve of her chin.

Ashleigh's eyes widened at his last statement. 'My father?' she stammered against his hand.

'I met him once. A long time ago. A brave man,' Merkalov smiled again, and for a moment Ashleigh thought she saw reason in his face. '009, yes?'

Ashleigh nodded, awkward though it was while he held her face. She could not believe that her father had met with this man. It seemed insane to be speaking of him and she wondered how long she could hold out against this new form of torture.

'Do you wish to know how your daughter is?' he asked sweetly, persuasively, yet gently reprimanding as well, as if scolding her for not asking sooner.

Ashleigh's heart leapt, yet she tried without much success to keep the eagerness from her voice. 'Yes, of course.'

'She is well. A lovely girl,' an almost wistful smile came over the man's face. 'You must be very proud of her.'

'Is she here?' Ashleigh held her breath.

'She is safe enough,' Merkalov said brusquely, standing up once more.

'May I see her?' desperate hope shone in Ashleigh's eyes as she leant forward.

For a second, Merkalov seemed to consider it. Then he laughed. 'Didn't you know?' he asked blithely. 'Natasha is with her father.'

It was as if a second blow had been struck. She took a moment to register this new information, the slow realisation of betrayal, of pain, and slowly, before Merkalov's eyes Ashleigh crumpled. She slumped, withdrawing in against the wall, her eyes filling with tears.

'She has been with him all this time,' Merkalov said cruelly, another verbal blow after another. 'I thought you knew.'

As Ashleigh closed her eyes to try to stop the tears from falling, all she could hear was the bastard's ringing laughter filling her head, his poisonous words slipping serpent like through her mind, tormenting her with the knowledge that Alec had known. That he had their daughter all this time.

Then finally the laughter was gone. She heard the clang of the heavy metal door as it slammed shut and only when she was sure she was truly alone did she let herself cry.

*

'The bitch killed Van Dien,' Merkalov swore, as he stalked around his makeshift control room. It was the room where he had promised Alec that he could see his daughter, where he had manipulated Jasmin easily and ruthlessly.

'Sir,' the man who guarded him was young and impressionable. He held the machine gun he carried with ease but somehow, you couldn't quite imagine him ever firing it.

'I wanted that pleasure myself,' Le Loup snarled, suddenly more wolf-like than ever. The harsh fluorescent lights caught the iron grey flecks in his hair and the soldier stepped back. He wore one of the wolf rings upon his finger but it was a recent honour and it seemed too large for his fine boned hand. He had never known any life but the life that The Wolf had offered him and never once had he thought to question his leader. However, now, he would have given anything to be as far away from him as possible.

'I want her watched,' Merkalov snapped, jabbing his finger at the screen. On the monitor was a grainy picture showing the inside of Ashleigh's cell. Barely eight foot by eight foot it was lit only by a single high barred opening, not even a window, that let the vicious cold Alpine wind in through and froze the small cell. It was made entirely from concrete that was slick with damp. A thin blanket had been thrown at Ashleigh's feet, and a bucket for her ablutions. A small hatch opened in the bottom of the thick metal door through which a pathetic meal had been shoved three times a day.

Merkalov stalked away. As he reached the door, he turned back to the young guard. 'Trevelyan is not to know of her presence. If he finds out, I will gut you myself. Do you understand?'

The young guard nodded. He was too frightened to do anything but obey.

*

'Alec?' M felt a shiver travel down the length of her spine. She was suddenly on guard. Her body tensed, ready for action the moment her personal line had rung.

'Sir,' his tone was cold but gently mocking at the same time in the way that only Alec could manage.

'You called.'

'As requested. James was quite insistent.'

'Yes, he can be, can't he?'

'Enough with the pleasantries, sir, please. I've done what you've asked. The western perimeter can be breached.'

'For how long?'

'It won't be noticed. I'll make sure of that.'

'Thank you.'

'One last thing, sir.'

'Yes?'

'My daughter. I want your reassurance, your word that she will be found. She will not be sacrificed for your mission. No man will harm her, and every man will be on alert for her. She is to be top priority once the compound is held.'

'Alec...' M closed her eyes. 'Do you really think I could wish harm on a five year old girl?'

'I want your word.'

'Of course you have it. Of course.'

'Good,' Alec was blunt.

'Alec?' M said softly.

'Sir?'

'We'll find her, Alec. I promise.'

She heard the pain in his voice and the tiredness. Yet still there was gratitude.

'Thank you, sir. Thank you.'

As if embarrassed by this open honesty and frankness, Alec was gone. M leant back into her chair and once more scanned the map in front of her, her finger jabbing at a particular point.

Soon. Soon the attack would begin.


	50. Chapter Forty Nine

A/N: Apologies for anyone who got excited and thought I'd uploaded a load of new chapters. I was reading through and noticed I'd somehow managed to miss an entire chapter. I am officially an idiot. It's Chapter Forty Five (numbered by as 46). Hopefully it'll fill in a big gap between Ashleigh, Jasmin and James.

To make up for it, I've published this chapter. Brand spanking new.

Seriously though, the tone is getting darker and will remain dark from this point on.

* * *

Ashleigh had given up trying to track time. Every time she tried, she lost her concentration. She felt exhausted despite managing to sleep and she had developed a hacking cough that had forced its way into her lungs and seemed to have filled them with liquid. Still she managed to put on a stubborn display of defiance every time the hatch opened, snatching at the food with indecent haste. She would not show them how damaged she was.

At some point they had taken away her heavy parka, leaving her in a thin, sleeveless t-shirt. The blanket she had in the cell with her provided her with the only source of warmth. Sometimes, if she was lucky, the wind stopped howling long enough to let the faint sunlight filter in a small amount of warmth and she would shuffle over to the small patch of yellow light and turn her face towards the sun, enjoying the feel of it upon her damaged skin as much as she could in this twisted situation.

She had not seen Merkalov again since his visits days ago. In a way she was glad as the man evoked such feelings of hatred within her that it was all she could not to scream his name aloud and list the ways she planned to kill him at the top of her lungs. She had resisted so far. She didn't know how much longer she could hold off that temptation.

Hopes of rescue were slim. She had realised this quickly on, and now a faint sense of panic was kicking in. Somewhere, hazily at the back of her mind she would daydream idly about Alec storming in, throwing punches before scooping her up and taking her to safety. She didn't know if she was awake or asleep when she entertained these subconscious thoughts but they always left her feeling as if hope was slipping away. Thinking of Alec was painful, she realised. Since Merkalov had told her that Natasha was with her father, she had become calmer. In a perverse way, she was almost happy, rather than angry at the thought. At least it meant that she was safe. It was one of the few things that Ashleigh could count on in this twisted world – Alec loved his daughter and would kill rather than have her harmed. No matter how angry she was with Alec himself for withholding this information, the knowledge that her daughter was safe calmed her somewhat.

Though she was beginning to have her doubts if she would ever see her child again.

As the hours passed, Ashleigh became more calm. She needed to conserve her energy for numerous reasons, and if needs be, she needed her strength to take on Le Loup. If she couldn't kill the bastard outright, she would leave her mark on him in one way or another.

There was the clang of the door and the small hatch was opened. Food was pushed through, none too gently, by a booted foot. Accuracy of placement wasn't top priority of the guard and his boot ended up halfway on the thin slab of hard black bread they offered and the jerking movement caused the thin, weak gruel like broth to slop slightly. Ashleigh didn't care. Reaching for it, she pulled it over, and despite her initial reactions of disgust, began to eat.

She needed the nutrients. She needed every scrap that came through that door.

*

In his control room, Merkalov watched as the agent eagerly spooned the gruel into her mouth. It seemed to be some effort to swallow, but Kain managed it.

'Look,' he gestured at the soldier to come closer. 'The food is disgusting, yes?'

The soldier nodded.

'Yet she eats every mouthful...'

'Yes, sir' the soldier decided it was easier to just agree.

'Why do you think that is?' Merkalov seemed thoughtful.

'She's hungry, sir?'

'Perhaps,' Merkalov was generous for once, allowing the soldier to voice his own opinion. 'But usually don't prisoners refuse the food in the beginning?'

The soldier grinned. 'Yes, sir. Until they get really hungry!'

'That's right, boy. Until they get really hungry. Yet this woman has never once refused the food. Tell me why, boy?'

The young soldier couldn't think of an answer. He simply shrugged and hoped he didn't get beaten for insolence.

Merkalov was distracted. He was flicking through the surveillance tapes of the cell. He seemed fascinated by the young woman.

'See the way she sits?' he pointed to her. The soldier leant in closer, noting nothing unusual. The woman was leaning back against the wall, staring up at the window. Her hands were wrapped around herself, her knees drawn up.

'Sir?' the soldier asked, confused.

Merkalov grinned darkly. 'She's hiding something.'

*

When the door clanged open this time, Ashleigh was ready. She deliberately scrambled out of the way, heading into the corner of the room. Too often had the door opening meant another kick or a jab in the ribs and she was already aching enough. She was surprised, but not shocked to see Merkalov there with three or four armed guards. She wondered if she was ever going to see him on her own. If she would ever get the chance to see him on their own.

Merkalov smirked at her, as if he could read her every thought. The feelings she had towards him were so strong that they probably were blazoned across her face. Slowly she staggered to her feet, aware of how dirty, unkempt and battered she looked and not giving a damn at the same time. He had done this to her, he had tried to degrade her, and yet, she still stood and looked him in the eye.

'Please, make yourself comfortable, my dear,' he gestured towards the floor once more. 'No need to stand on my account,' his accent made his voice deep and melodious, a strange cross between Russian and French and English all at the same time.

'I'm fine,' Ashleigh felt lightheaded as she stood, she ended up with one hand pressed against the wall to support herself. She hated this show of weakness in front of him, but it was that or crash to the floor.

'I think it's time you and I discussed some very important matters,' Merkalov ignored her swaying stance. 'You killed one of my people.'

'She told me that you were going to kill her.'

'Jasmin was always paranoid.'

'So you deny it?'

He shrugged. 'She gave away vital information.'

'Then what I did could be considered small mercies. I've seen how you treat women here.'

'You're a foreign spy, don't tell me MI6 treat their enemies with respect?'

'They have some concept of human rights. Not to mention the Geneva Convention. '

'We have provided you with food. With shelter. '

'Shelter?' Ashleigh gave a theatrical shiver. She felt very exposed and vulnerable.

Merkalov seemed thoughtful. 'You are not the first British agent to be held here,' he said almost conversationally.

Ashleigh narrowed her eyes. 'That doesn't surprise me.'

'I told you that I met your father, didn't I? We held him here too.'

'My father? Here?' Ashleigh glanced around in confusion trying to imagine her father being held in this very room. She wondered if they had treated him worse than they had treated her, and then felt a terrible, crushing sensation swamp her. 'Here?' she repeated helplessly.

'Tell me,' Merkalov said gently, 'has Alec ever spoken to you about your father's death?'

Mutely, Ashleigh shook her head. The urge to vomit was rising rapidly; the room seemed to have tilted beneath her.

'It was some time ago now. We received word that there were English agents in the area. I was aware that MI6 were interested in the base, I suppose I was slightly arrogant in my activities and hadn't quite covered my tracks as well as I should have. I was younger then, more impetuous. You know the way it is,' he gave her an almost paternal smile. 'And as you must realise, I couldn't allow foreign spies to discover just who was recovering here. Not when he was supposed to be a dead man. If they had discovered Alec, well, his plan would have been over before it had even started. We caught them as they attempted a raid. The other agent was shot instantly. I can't remember his name, but he died almost straight away. Your father fought hard, even jumped from an upper window. Smashed his leg up rather badly, but never let it show how much it hurt him. You're rather like him in that respect.'

Ashleigh stared at him blankly.

'As I was saying, you're rather like him,' it was almost an indulgent smile that he offered her. 'We dragged him here, he fought all the way. You look so much like him. I can't quite believe the resemblance. He fought hard, like you did, but finally we overpowered him. He refused to tell us anything, such a brave, brave man. Still, I couldn't risk letting him go.'

He hesitated, enjoying the affect that his words were having on the young woman. 'So I brought him to the courtyard. Just round from here. By this point, Alec had found out. He was such a different man then. Burning with revenge. He hated England, hated anything to do with MI6. He was eager for such an opportunity. I knew then that I had to let him have that privilege. The chance to take his revenge. Your father was so shocked to see him.'

'Alec was there?' the words sounded as if they were very far away to Ashleigh. She licked her lips, she was dehydrated, and they were cracked beneath her tongue.

'Oh yes, he was there. I remember it very clearly.'

'At my father's death?'

'Dear girl, you must sit down,' Merkalov said in mock sympathy as Ashleigh sagged even further against the wall. He placed a hand against her shoulder and laughed as it was viciously shaken off. 'We wouldn't want you fainting.'

'Alec was there?' the words came from numb lips.

'Oh yes, of course he was,' Merkalov laughed cruelly again, and the guards who surrounded him laughed, although clearly they didn't entirely understand the humour. 'Don't tell me that he never told you?'

'No,' Ashleigh whispered, although it was unclear if in protest or denial. 'No.'

'Alec was there, my dear. It was him who pulled the trigger. He killed your father, his friend. And you didn't know?'

This time the floor did crumble from beneath her feet. Ashleigh collapsed to her knees in a terrible parody of her father's final moments. Blackness started to creep in at the corner of her vision and she welcomed it, anything to escape the terrifying images that flashed into her mind. Her father, kneeling in the snow, Alec behind him, gun in hand. He had killed her father. He had killed his friend, her father. The words echoed again and again in her mind. She was too shocked, too stunned to even start to come to terms with these facts.

All around her there was laughter.

The man she loved had killed her father. She had given up everything for him, she had married him, he had given her their daughter, they had a child together, she had shared his bed for years, she had loved him and all this time he had known and never told. He had been the one to end her father's life. He had murdered his friend. She had been orphaned at thirteen because the man she would grow up to marry had killed her father.

'No,' she cried, and with a fierce desperation, she threw herself at Merkalov. 'I won't believe it!' she screamed, and she managed one good hit before the men surrounding him grabbed her and threw her bodily back against the wall. She hit the ground hard, instantly curling herself up into a tight ball her arms wrapped around her stomach.

Merkalov stepped over her, a huge vast figure who suddenly blocked out her entire world with his body. He dabbed at his mouth where there was a small cut caused by her single blow. It was nothing. He smiled cruelly. 'Oh yes, I've been meaning to discuss _that_ with you too.'

She looked up fearfully. Dark shadows were hollowed out beneath her eyes, she looked gaunt. And suddenly, she knew that he knew.

'Your husband isn't the man you think he is,' Merkalov snarled, crouching down towards her. 'He has your daughter. He killed your father. And yet, you still try to protect him. You still care for him. You're a fool, Agent Kain. A stupid, English spy. I won't kill you, not yet. I have plans for you.'

She saw the madness in his eyes. She let out a brief, single high scream as his men grabbed her, pulling her from the floor. They held her tightly, each grabbing one of her arms, pulling them out straight from her body in a crude approximation of crucifixion, and Ashleigh knew what was happening and knew that it would crucify her. She tried to pull her body into herself, tried to twist away, but it was happening. And all her struggling couldn't stop it. They held her too tightly, too fiercely.

'I won't kill you,' Merkalov hissed. 'But I will break you.'

He lashed out then, a high kick, to his hip level, out straight, his booted foot hitting hard into her lower abdomen. The air was crushed from her, a sudden exhale of terror and the room was spinning, the pain was red hot and she fell to the floor.

He spat on her then, drove a boot into her ribs for good measure as she lay trembling on the floor. He stepped over her, ignoring the tiny whimpers that came from her as she tried to catch her breath. She heard the boots on the concrete as they filed out, the hollow thud of the door being swung shut and the final sound of the lock being slid into place.

Her stomach was a mass of pain. Somehow she managed to drag herself to the corner of the room, away from everything. She collapsed against the wall, turning her face to it, pulling the blanket up and over her body.

She had tried so hard to protect herself. Now the tears streamed down her face as she realised that he had known, that somehow he had figured it all out. She lay as still as possible, concentrating on the steady inhale and exhale of her respiration. She knew that she had bruising on her ribs at the very least, perhaps even some had cracked but she tried to ignore that pain.

Ashleigh prayed.

She prayed to a God that she wasn't sure she believed in for a miracle. That somehow, somehow, it wouldn't happen.

That her body would be strong enough to cope.

She prayed and prayed and finally, she prayed with little or no hope.

She hadn't wanted to tell anyone. It had seemed too early, too uncertain to share with Alec. Then he had vanished and on that one night they had spent together, she had fiercely guarded her secret.

Now it seemed she had given herself away somehow.

She closed her eyes and gripped the blanket tighter. If she lay very still, perhaps, perhaps she could prevent it happening.

It wasn't instantaneous. At some point in the night she felt the cramps begin and the warm wetness between her legs. She had tried so hard to protect, to guard and now, here, it was all over before it had truly began.

Silently, in the darkness, with the salt from her tears on her face, Ashleigh miscarried.


End file.
